To Redeem Those Yearning for Final Salvation
Outside I paced, in March's cold. I looked like you that day, Dressed in your colors, Baptized in your curls. You invited me in, and I thanked you. You showed me your ark, A beautiful canopied box, Uplifted high on the dais. Here we reign free, you gestured to me, Some study, some eat, and some pray. One sat alone, his nose in a book, Others were singing or belching. You brought me over to sit at your table Where we spoke of Brooklyn and work. In our strong cups, you asked of my wife; I had not flown her to meet me here yet. Of children and forbears, you reminisced, But noticed that still I looked sad. Had I sanctified myself that day, With the holy blessing of prayer? When I said nothing, you guessed right away That I was not one from among you. You pulled out two men from between us To place yourself beside me. You lifted me up, flames in your eyes, Demanding the reason I’d come. Confessing, I said, I am what I am, But here was I hoping to learn. From off my head you snatched my hat; Then, thinking better, you handed it back. Not ready yet, you repeated to me, Then shoved me back out through your door. Stumbling down that parkway median, I stared at the ground and said nothing, Wondering whether those showing me kindness Had watched me submit to your hand— Your mighty smack would sting long. Maybe in five years, you said, maybe ten, Not now though, you said, I could not be ready. Never, however, my heart said to me. Why had I come? The same reason as you. Whom did I serve? The same one as you. Could a crown be earned, really, In that humbling din? I did pray that day, as a matter of fact, That you would dream about me.
