The gift of impatience

All those years

there, on the ground

his useless body a

mile marker for passersby

on pilgrimage to the

pools of Bethesda

exposed limbs collecting

the dust of decades

kicked up, flung

in the bustle of Jerusalem

his desire to be well

ability to move

a form of entrapment

All those days she spent

hiding from the gaze of

others, shame

like the unstopped flow of

blood a constant effusion

forever on the fringe of connectedness

the yeast that ruins the

bread unleavened

All those countless hours

in a void of perception

speculation about

every perceived and imagined wrong

the soundscape of his blind existence

sooner to choose

deafness

than hear another

question about the reason why

All those hours

in need of a miracle

all those anguished days

never knowing it was on

its way

unaware that on one night

in Bethlehem amidst the

accumulated regrets of

the dirt, the blood

and the darkness

their miracle was

born

As the miracle grew

over all those long years

each painful day

he was one day closer to

standing on his own two feet again and

she was one hour nearer to shedding

her shame and he

was a moment away from

seeing the face of God

The gift of impatience is that

the miracle draws

nigh

© Andrew Kooman