Читать книгу Remembering Jesus - John Leax - Страница 9

Matthew 2:16–18

“The king requires your son,” I said. No more

Herself than a child, the infant’s mother turned

Her head. Her hand closed white against the door.

She knew an end had come. Her silence earned

Her mercy I refused. I took the life

She held and stepped outside. How does one kill

Before a mother’s eye? Not with sword 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.