Was She Celebrated or Scorned?

A GIRL WITH NO NAME
Luke 8: 49 - 56
 
Jesus brought her back to life,
her father was important,
and she was 12 years old;
that’s all we know.
Today she might have braces,
wear a Red Wings jersey
and hang boy band posters
on her bedroom wall.
 
"Don't tell anyone," Jesus asked,
but Peter, James and John,
the crowd, the pipe players,
kids climbing courtyard walls
for a better view: they all knew.
Death was more public then 
and they laughed Jesus to scorn
that she might live again.
But then he took her hand,
called to her spirit
and commanded she be fed.
 
Was she celebrated or scorned,
a year later and the excitement gone?
Did neighbors call out in joy 
or cross the street to avoid her?
Did friends support her
or were they afraid?
  
We supply our own ending
and wonder if one day 
we might ask her ourselves.

I wasn’t sure which poem to post this week and didn’t have a lot of time, so I used a random number generator. The number 62 was generated, and this is poem no. 62 in my ‘Newer Poems’ folder. It’s not a poem I would have chosen for its potential appeal, but it’s a poem I like well enough. The impetus for writing the poem comes from pondering what effects the events Luke describes might have on a normal 12-year-old-girl . . .just a regular kid. And how might others treat her a year down the road? Feel free to share your thoughts by leaving a comment.

And until next time. . .

We recently returned from a few days in Hocking Hills, Ohio, a pretty area in SE Ohio which is the beginning of the Appalachians (assuming one is approaching from the northwest). While driving between small towns on twisting, hilly roads we spotted the occasional Confederate flag tacked to a peeling porch railing or flying from a rusty flagpole. I have seen the Confederate flag displayed in similar circumstances in rural Northern Michigan, too, leading me to ponder the following. (1.) Why is the Confederate flag invariably displayed at the most disheveled house to be found for miles around; and (2.) do those who fly the Confederate flag in places like Ohio or Michigan realize that their ancestors likely fought against the Confederacy?

Please note: it’s likely I won’t post a poem for a week or two as I’m having a tooth pulled, a knee straightened, and traveling for an elementary school (yes, elementary school) reunion luncheon. I’ll try to at least post a link to an earlier entry, but no promises. Feel free to explore earlier entries until new posts resume.

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A New Poem Every Monday
(tho’ sometimes life gets in the way)

Joseph Neely, all rights reserved.