Tabernacle

He squelched into his carpeted hallway

Backlit by dim bulbs at the top of the stair

 

Sacrifice, my sacrifice…

 

Into the living room with the vaulted ceiling

Never realizing his own interiors

Uncovered, unlivable.

 

Sacrifice, my sacrifice

Along this dark escarpment

 

Walk the edge of the couch like a tightrope

Unenviable this creature comfort

Fire by night, smoke by day

 

Sacrifice, my sacrifice

My life for you, for you.

 

He mortgaged it all with a pound of flesh

Now called due and over

All overdue.

 

He played out the string

Lived in our museum

Exhibit A

Called in all his favors

Only to be left alone to face

The price of friendship—

 

Sacrifice, my sacrifice…

 

Disease grows on borrowed surfaces

But it is the germs that we own

The stain, the casual dust

Left in the leveraged air

To reap the rot

Then to hear

 

Sacrifice, my sacrifice

Eat the feast of tabernacles.

 

“A wandering Aramean was my father”

His tracks and tents were here

If, finally, I could find them

I would go inside to see

 

The sacrifice, my sacrifice.

Reviews

[Dominique]

unique style...i think id love to hear this read aloud by two people

[R J Askew]

I've read this a couple of times and can't puzzle it out. I like the beginning, especially the word 'squealched'. Is the carpet sticky or is he soaked? The line about interiors I thought might be a reference to states of mind.

[Jason Henry]

the imagery is so vivid in this poem...congrats on such a great read!