THE DRYING OF FEET.A Poem by Terry CollettA WOMAN RECALLS DRYING THE FEET OF CHRIST
She had dried His feet
with her hair. She’d not forgotten that. Not long after she’d seen the same feet nailed and bloodied to the wooden down beam. Her tears had helped wash them, those feet, she later remembered the tingle she had felt as her long hair dried them, something in touching, emptied her of self and opened up her darker self. Had He seen more than others, understood what others were blind to, forgave what others condemned? That moment, His feet in her hands, touching her hair, her hands. His eyes spoke to her, His words pinpricked her, each sin (as others saw them) scabbed over as he went by, His shadow kind of healed her. She knew that now, not then so much, after His demise (or so seemed) and the placing in that tomb, she felt letdown, emptied, like after some dark passage sex. But she’d seen Him after, the feet healed, the holes unbloodied, His voice soothed her inner coil keyed up tight. But mostly she recalled the washing of His feet on that warm moon filled night. © 2013 Terry Collett |
StatsAuthorTerry CollettUnited KingdomAboutTerry Collett has been writing since 1971 and published on and off since 1972. He has written poems, plays, and short stories. He is married with eight children and eight grandchildren. on January 27t.. more..Writing
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