the call

by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer

I wait to hear the telephone

two daughters or a wife

or maybe patient coming home

at last an end to strife

the ring

that ring

or could it be

somebody wanting those

who have not yet arrived

I've started counting on my toes

the seconds

for my fingers

are too busy making work

go past so I'll be ready

for the duty I can't shirk

is this the way You waited

those millenia and years

and moments on that evening

Your whole body shook with tears

there was no phone to bother You

but footsteps

broke the dust

with clamor

as with murmuring

a crowd consumed with lust

not knowing they were helping You complete what must be done

just wanting evil punishment

for You being the One

Who'd end

all reason idiotic pride made people sing

the nonexistent glory of themselves

to which they cling

we'll wait together

now Your pain and bleeding once for all

has made less of a chore of mine

but nonetheless the call

is there for me

so I add mine

to bring that poor child home

and meantime I'll pick up my kids

and from her week-end roam

my wife will come back

(all relaxed, I hope)

content with sighs

and I'll think more

on that good day

when You made morning rise