Psalm Contest
Psalm of the Heretics Saved
Oh, God!
You’ve taken my hands;
the blood spills onto the heathen soil of my birth!
The jaguar cannot help me.
The mighty pyramid rising past the trees
is a pride you’ve turned to shame.
You sent your messengers on canvass wings
and they descended from the firmament
as white as eyeless stars
and crossed the primordial water
to break my sinful ways.
Oh, God!
I did not know you loved me so,
enough to take my hands.
You took my hands!
Your angels have taken my hands with their swords.
Ropes could have been undone,
but this bondage is for all time.
Lord, you have taken my hands
so I may never raise them against you,
nor adore the gods the forests gave my mother.
I dare not raise my tongue against you
lest you take it too!
Glory be to God!
Glory be to God!
Glory be to God in the highest;
I will sing your psalms.
Oh, God!
You’ve made of me a Salem lamb;
you’ve shorn my locks,
prepared me for the fire.
My fat is crackling on my skin
as the smoke and flames of forgiveness rise.
Your faithful stand near, side by side and cheer.
I am not a witch; just a woman.
But I confess; I confess; as I try to break the ropes;
I confess both being a woman, and a witch.
I scream your praise with the scalding air that peels lungs.
as the smoke and flames of your forgiveness purify.
Oh, God!
I will not live long enough to escape your love;
this bondage is for all time.
There is no freedom from your salvation.
Lord, you have made me a lamb,
bleating and tender,
given to the shepherd, bloodied on his cross.
And for him I bleat!
Glory be to God!
Glory be to God!
Glory be to God in the highest;
I will sing your psalms.
Oh, God!
I taught in the bushes like a bird,
as my people raised a circle of stones to join the sun and moon,
but I will not join the Sidhe when I die,
nor linger in the oaks as a light as light as the leaves.
My freedom was coiled within me
like a snake with no cause to strike,
breathing clean air,
letting light fill my skin;
you came to claim my soul,
drive out the snake in me
that knew the valleys and emerald hills as well as if it had made them on its belly.
No more white robes.
No gold. No branches of yew.
Urine filled ghettos of brick and wash and hunger.
Old memories ferment inside
like ouisce in amber bottles.
Oh, God!
This bottle is forever;
spirits
escape my mouth,
but I will
make
your praises.
Glory be God!
Glory to be God!
To be Glory, God highness,
and I will sing you salmons.
9/12/2019
sponsor: Regina Riddle
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