We don’t hear from you,
but I see you
gazing out the palace window.
Your silence roars.
David had his private little comeuppance
but you have had no hearing.
David’s punishment was the death of your child,
to add to your husband’s.
(Surely your grief sobered him.)
But have you had reparations,
or even a door for your grief?
Our beloved king, so brave and wise,
is also a monster. We sing his psalms
and repeat his transgression.
When the palace trumpets are still
there hangs the dark melody of your lament.
Bathsheba,
to you and your millions of sisters,
we confess. We all have ravaged,
the whole palace, the entire nation.
Our abuse has wounded you,
our language belittled you,
our policies excluded you,
our jokes isolated you.
Our silence has harmed you.
Our fear has disappeared you.
And still you walk the palace halls,
gaze out the window at that shadow,
and wait for us to become worthy
of sovereignty.
By God’s grace, some day soon,
may we become so.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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