You say
I should revere the father
who made my squint-eyed sister

my enemy,
birthing sons: chiseled-flint spears
to pierce my envious heart.

I say
He’s a trickster to rival
my heel-grabbing husband,

supplanting
my love for Jacob
with my sister’s lithe body.

You say
I should hurl the past into shadow
now my own bright-cloaked boy

is bundled
atop a camel facing Canaan,
where Jacob’s god issues commands.

But I say
some artifacts are worth keeping
to bear us across burning deserts,

the idols
burrowed deep into my saddlebags
talismans against the spite of brothers.

You can hear a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash