What Passed Through
a poem
This is a poem I first drafted several months ago, drawing imagery from a few different places. I submitted to a poetry contest, and…no luck in the contest. :)
I’ve kept working on different versions of it since then. Here’s one (Below).
What Passed Through
The old man leaves his domino facedown
to work the knot from the colt.
“What do you need it for?” the bride asks,
barefoot now, her dress brushing sugarcane.
Pink syrup shines on a boy’s knuckles. Three white chairs hold a sleeping child. Somebody starts shouting Hosanna.
Down the road, bridles strike metal.
A guitar tries the tune people rise for.
Sun catches an eagle above the horses;
a cross rests against the singer’s shirt.
A man holding a branch turns to watch them pass.
The wedding keeps going. Men climb the utility poles—
—sparks fall among the flags. Coats disappear into the dirt.
More countries are named. The guitar carries past the houses.
My hand is halfway to my chest before I catch it.
The horses would have turned my head. That much I know.
But the colt is borrowed,
and somebody has to take it home.
My book, At Home with God: How the Cross Transforms Us (IVP), is available for preorder now on Amazon and wherever books are sold.
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