Remembering Jesus. John Leax

or knife.

      Not with thrusts that once begun would fill

      A street with blood. I cradled the infant

      And mouthed into its ear a lullaby.

      Over its puckered mouth I closed a tyrant’s

      Frightened hand. I squeezed so it could not cry.

      The mother-child clutched my arm. The night

      Became a winding sheet. There was no light.

      Resurrection Song: With Money in their Hands

      Matthew 29: 11–15

      What you must say you won’t find hard

      The elders told the hapless guards:

      Say He was stolen while we slept.

      His thieves will spin the world, except

      We make a truth of our canard.

      No judge will find your sluggard

      Hour fair cause to launch hard

      Words at you or to suspect

      What you must say.

      The guards obeyed the elders’ word

      And told of bodies, haggard

      And overcome when starless night crept

      Round the stone-locked crypt.

      With money in their hands it was not hard

      To say what they would say.

      Recognition

      John 2: 14–15

      Luke 2: 48

      There was, I thought, something about the man

      Familiar, an image pressed on the coin

      Of memory. But slow, afraid I’d join

      The fallen under toppled tables, I ran.

      I’m sure, now, I needn’t have. His harsh whip

      Sought the rash of thieving profiteers

      Hawking oxen, sheep, and pigeons, their sneers

      Mocking country pilgrims come to worship.

      I crept back when breath returned. Around

      Him stood the Pharisees. His zealousness

      For the Father’s house brought back a scene. Years

      Ago I watched a quiet boy confound

      The elders. As then, I saw his brightness

      Was a sword. His mother’s love would end in tears.

      Zebedee

      Matthew 4:21–22

      Two sons I gave the Lord. Not willingly.

      Our shadows stretched across the narrow shelf

      To where the deep water darkens Galilee.

      The night of labor ended, I knew myself

      As blessed. Two faithful sons, a crew of hands

      To pull a weight of fish that I alone

      Would lose. Such easy work to give commands!

      Such joy to see them jump. The light that shone

      Upon my back was good. A net profit

      Rose each morning. Laughter filled each day.

      Then Jesus, working the rocky shore, thought

      To call, “James, John.” They left my net, my way,

      And followed. Risen, he calls me, “Zebedee,”

      And keeps me mending nets beside the sea.

      The Sixth Man

      John 6:34

      I was a taking sort of man and she

      A woman, worn by giving, satisfied

      To trade a mockery of love. Her fee—

      Nothing elaborate, a place beside

      Another, a protective touch, a hand

      Restrained when annoyance flares. I took her in.

      Asking little of her, I was more bland

      Than eager in my need. A simple bargain

      Bound us until the prophet at the well

      Requested water, spoke her holy name,

      And told her story true. She ran to tell