When he walked in
he walked right past
the Hostess at the door,
Mother at her baking
and the Writer in her study
walled with worlds.

He went straight to the room
at the very very back
where Little Girl lay very still
and didn't cry.

His robe was dusty, stained with salt;
it smelled of fish and workingman.
His hands were callused, worn and scarred
with fishinglines, woodwork, and nails.
He touched my cheek
I told Him all the things
we Never Tell Anyone.
I drenched his shoulder with a child's
messy tears.
He smiled with me.

Dawn glows new on Mount Rainier
where His feet dance

and my heart dances, too.


Anitra's Writing Page

Art from the wonderful site Jesus Christ-Images, Art and Photographs