by Nikki Grimes
I have never glimpsed it
from the Court of Women.
Pity that we’re not permitted
to see the holy sacrifices
for ourselves.
Though, truth be told,
I would rather not watch
an animal have its throat slit.
Still.
“You know, Father,” I say.
“Next year at the Passover,
I believe I’ll enter the Court of Israel
to witness the sacrifices firsthand.”
Father almost drops his cup of wine.
“What?”
“They say a woman did so once before.
Besides, am I not as much
a child of God as any man?”
Father’s eyes flash toward Mother.
“Speak to your daughter!”
Mother gives me her sternest look,
for Father’s benefit,
then, when he turns away,
we share a secret smile.
Later, as we clean the cooking pots,
she tells me,
“I see what joy it gives you
to frighten your father.
But I ask you,
why settle for being equal with men?”
My mother’s bold words
make me love her more,
and I pledge myself to walk
in her strength.
Someday, I hope my children
will walk in mine.
Gabriel
Familiar as my bedchamber is,
I miss the temple.
Not the raucous crowds,
or the squeal of lambs
or squawk of pigeons
readied for the sacrifice,
but His Presence.
I met God in the temple,
and he knew me.
In some strange way,
I even feel him here.
I snuggle down
on my sleeping mat,
and close my eyes.
But not for long.
An angel slips into my room,
announces that God is on his way,
then tells me I am to be mother
of Messiah, the Promised One,
the Savior of our people;
that my once-barren cousin Elizabeth,
too old to bear a child,
bears one now.
What sense am I
to make of that?
I rub my eyes,
waiting to wake,
unable to shake this vision.
Mary: Light Show
Lord?
What is happening?
I feel a gentle warmth
settling over me,
fingers of heat
fluttering from naval to knee.
Am I dreaming?
What is this cloud of light?
I close my eyes
and count to three,
but when I look again,
the shadow without darkness
is still swallowing me whole.
I poke its side,
then hide my face
when my touch
sends up sparks without flame.
Lord,
what is this cool fire
that licks my skin,
and why do I tingle so?
Gabriel?
Is this what you meant?
Gabriel?
Are you still there?
The Morning After
Who will believe me?
Who?
And what if no one does?
What then?
I march through the next day
numb, that one question
circling my mind
like a vulture
ready to pick my thoughts clean.
I feel my belly,
flat as ever,
and close my eyes,
remembering the fire
of God’s touch,
hearing the echo of the word
Messiah.
Betrothed
And what about Joseph?
We are as good as married,
our betrothal
as binding as any other,
and nothing less than
a paper of divorcement
could end it.
Of course, we have never
shared a bed,
nor will we
until our wedding night.
So, if I truly am with child,
Joseph will know
the father
is someone else.
And what will Joseph-
No. I am not yet ready
to consider
what hard or bitter things
might await me
in the distance.
Besides, the Lord Jehovah
will meet me there.
Yes?
Interruption
“Are you deaf?”
My mother’s voice penetrates,
unwelcome,
reaching me easily from downstairs.
“What?”
“Is your homework done?”
she asks.
I trade Mary, Mary for my notebook,
and yell down “Soon!”
That’s as close to the truth
as I can manage.
Lucky for me, I’m a good student.
By the time she calls “Lights out,”
I’m done.
I flip the switch.
“Goodnight,” says Mom.
“Goodnight,” I answer.
I place Mary, Mary beneath my pillow
and feel a little closer
to God.
Clarity
Where have I been?
I wake and look around
as if the world is new,
or old.
I can’t tell which,
only that
the fog inside my head
is lifted
and I can think again.
I can see.
Trey was bad for me.
Time to move on.
Focus
Off to school.
English lit to study.
Friends to concentrate on.
Volleyball to play.
Pray coach and teachers
don’t call on you.
Got lots of catching up to do.
Split
Long as I can remember,
Seth and me,
we were two peas
in a pod,
exactly alike
in every way.
That’s no longer true
and there’s nothing I can do
to change things back.
We’re in different places now,
like I entered a room
Seth doesn’t have a key to
and the best we can do
is wave through the window.
I just hope one day soon
I’ll figure out how
to crack that window open
an inch or two,
without, you know,
smashing it to bits.
A Simple Question
Somewhere between
bites of pepperoni
and a swig of milk,
Seth asks,
“So, what’s with you and Trey?
Are you, you know,
hooking up now?”
I almost choke,
no joke.
Milk sputters
down my chin.
I grab a napkin,
start dabbing away,
my brain on fire
from the fuse
she just lit.
“It was one time, Seth!”
I say, teeth tight.
“One time!
And I’m already sorry.”
“Okay, okay!” says Seth.
“I was-you know-
just wondering.”
I cut my eyes at her.
“Okay!” she says.
�
�I’ll shut up.”
That is
the smartest thing
she’s said
all day.
Choir Practice
All through practice,
Seth snatches looks at me,
as if she’s wondering
what I’m doing here.
I want to yell,
“Virgins aren’t the only ones
who can sing!”
But who am I kidding?
I do feel weird being here,
singing about a God
I broke my promise to.
If everybody knew,
maybe they’d ask me to leave,
and maybe I would.
And maybe I should.
Private Matters
“Haven’t seen Sethany
around here much lately,”
says my mom.
“You two get in a fight?”
“No,” I say. “We’re both busy, is all.”
I study the wall
just right of her head,
hoping she doesn’t notice
how adept I’m getting
at avoiding eye contact,
wishing she wasn’t
so dang nosey.
A Crack in the Window
“We broke up, by the way,”
I told Seth over lunch.
She quit munching her sandwich
long enough to look up
to see if I was okay.
I didn’t say anything,
just shrugged my shoulders
in a way that said Don’t ask.
Not now.
She took the cue,
smiled to let me know
she was relieved,
and finished eating
in silence.
Face-to-Face
I miss the old days
before I pulled away from church,
when I trusted Seth
with all my secrets,
even face-to-face.
Funny how my fears
weighed half as much back then,
as if telling my best friend
split them in two.
I used to say or do whatever
and never worry
that she’d judge me
or love me less.
If only we could be
that close again.
What if I took a chance
and let her in?
Truth Time
“Here’s the ugly truth,”
I tell Seth after school.
“Trey never really
cared for me.
He just wanted
to add me to his list.”
I ball my fist,
fighting back the tears.
Seth slips an arm around me.
“It’ll be alright,” she chokes out.
“Besides,” she adds,
“he’s not worth the dirt
under your fingernails.
He’s a supercilious, joyless jerk.”
Clearly, Seth’s been
hitting the dictionary again,
which makes me smile
in the middle of my cry,
which is exactly why
I love her.
Back to Normal
Later that week,
I finish up an essay for English
as my cell phone rings,
putting a period on my homework
for the night.
It’s Seth, of course,
calling to remind me
about Youth Group Video Night.
“It’ll probably be lame,” she says.
“Ya think? Bet you anything
it’ll be The Princess Bride.”
“Again!” we say in unison.
“Come hang with me anyway,”
pleads Sethany.
“We always have a blast.”
“Escuchame, pero
yo no hablo Ingles,” I say.
“Girl! Quit it!”
We ping-pong words
back and forth awhile
before I finally say yes.
I can’t help but smile
at the ease of it,
feeling like we’re almost
back to normal.
Switch
His heart must be
a light switch,
something he turns on and off
whenever the mood hits,
‘cause here he is,
weeks later,
pressing another girl
up against the hall lockers.
I can’t fly by
fast enough.
What was that line again?
“You’re killing me, girl.
You know I’m falling
in love with you.”
Yeah.
Right.
Color me stupid.
I Want to be Alone
The school library
is suddenly my best friend.
I sneak there
for a quick rendezvous
with Mary.
Dinner
Joseph joins my family
for the evening meal,
the first we have shared
since it happened.
Does it show?
Does my face glow
like the skin of Moses
on Mt. Sinai?
“Shalom, Joseph,” I greet him,
quickly dropping my gaze,
afraid my secret is sealed
in the glint of my eye.
“How was your day?”
“The trek to Sepphoris was grueling
in this midsummer heat,
especially the climb
up that last, steep hill.
But you know, Sepphoris is
our nearest metropolis,
and that is where the work is.
So, I go.” I nod to show
that I am listening,
all the while wondering
why Mother didn’t hear us,
why a man,
righteous as my father,
couldn’t sense
the presence of God
in his own house.
Unless God did not want him to.
“I worked on cabinets today,”
says Joseph.
“Or should I say
they worked on me.
My muscles scream.
Surely, you must hear them.”
“Poor Joseph,” I tease.
“Maybe I can help.”
Rising from the table,
I plant my strong young hands
onto his stiff old shoulders
and knead the pain away.
“You are an angel,” says Joseph.
I smile to myself, thinking
No. But last night,
I met one.
Haunted
When Mother greeted me
this morning,
my only answer was a nod.
I refuse to speak until sundown,
this one-day vow of silence
the least I can do
to help me focus,
sort truth from wild imagination.
After all, where is the evidence
that my visit from
Gabriel and God
was more than a dream?
The very idea seems
impossible to me now,
that somehow Jehovah
would place
his son in me.
Three days have passed,
and life remains common
as birdsong and morning
as I move swiftly through
the market at Sepphoris,
careful to guard my purse
from the sly fingers
of small thieves.
I am here to purchase
fresh coriander and thyme,
but a tumbling mound of
luscious pomegranates
tipping the scales
of a nearby merchant
tempts me to add a few
to my basket.
I reach for one,
only to drop it when I hear
“Gabriel?”
My heart races at the sound.
“Gabriel?”
I spin round to discover
the source of my distraction.
It is a young woman,
not much older than me.
Could it really be?
Does she see the angel too?
I rush toward her,
my mind fumbling for
words to ask that
impossible question.
Two steps away,
my lips part just as
a little boy darts
from behind a market stall.
“Gabriel,” she scolds, “how often
must I tell you not to run from me
in the marketplace?”
I lower my head and turn away,
feeling foolish.
And yet, I cannot shake the feeling
of that holy presence
in my bedchamber,
nor any longer deny
that the archangel’s voice
still rings in my ear.
Did he not say
he knew of my cousin, Elizabeth?
That Jehovah had visited her too?
Once and for all,
I must learn if it is true.
I head home to pack.
My puny purchases
can wait.
I must journey to Judah.
I must speak with Elizabeth.
Journey to Judah
Lamech, a servant of Joseph,
joins me, huddling beneath
an acacia tree.
The sun threatens to peel me
like a grape,
and I am grateful for
this circle of shade,
though I would hate
for these deadly thorns
to pierce my skin.
I slide to the ground,
and lean against the trunk,
tensing at the sound
of a lion’s roar
in the distance.
Thankfully,
judging from the direction
of the sound, we are downwind
of his scent.
“Here,” says Lamech,
offering his waterskin
before slaking his own thirst.
I smile at his kindness,
remembering the Bedouin proverb
my father never tired of repeating:
Always take care