This Is Revision . . .
Seattle Pacific’s MFA program is making me a better writer. Who knew. I am not only composing new works, but bringing a critical eye to previous works as well. Including works which have been published.
For example, my poem “Providence” was published a couple years back, and I was very pleased to it. Put a stupid amount of time on it, blending the biblical texts with the numerology and the voice of Mary. Not to mention the formating (figure it out yourself). Broke my back in many ways. And it got published, so obviously someone else appreciated the effort that I put forth in crafting this piece.
Yeah well I’ve revisited it, and think it was mostly well intentioned crap. See for yourself.
Providence (Published version)
in retrospect i should have known better:
the angel only stayed for 12 minutes
after announcing my cousin’s sixth month
proclaiming my own 9 (and adding too
the 3 hours of uneasy labour
that’s so comfortably lost from those songs).
at age three the 3 gifts arrived followed
by 30 birthdays of finding His place
fulfilling a divine triumvirate.
next: triple temptation, 12 disciples
and parables oft told in triplicate
(though as before Pontius Pilate He proved
He’d never use four words when 3 would do)
and then for 6 hours I watched Him hang
there on all 3 crosses torn by nine nails.
all this after being denied thrice by
His closest of 3 (and the cock’s third call)
but of course now I smile and remember
when as a boy He lost us for those 3
days being about His Father’s business
(a Passover that nearly broke my heart:
3 days searching for His face). it should have
come as no surprise that 21 years
later He would play the same trick again.
This is how it currently stands:
Providence
in retrospect i should have known better:
the angel tarried a mere twelve minutes
after announcing my cousin’s sixth month
as proof of proclaiming nine of my own.
near the age of three the magi arrived
followed by thirty years finding His place
between G-d and man: from bar mitzvah to
baptism. He tried so hard. temptations
only a mother knows. His disciples
twelve good boys. even despite the silver.
thirty pieces for Pilate to hear three
words which i always knew. i watched Him hang
for six hours, on all three crosses. cut
more by the denial of His closest
than the number of nails. but of course now
i smile. one Passover the boy, just shy
of manhood, lost us. we searched for three days
fearing to find His face amoung the tombs
and being about my Father’s business
was His reply. so why was i surprised
at an encore after twenty-one years.?
~MEH
No one’s perfect. Not even me(h).