Olive branches

Olive branches

To my children

Twenty years ago a someone solemn said
'Thy children shall be like the olive branches: round about thy
table
Lo thus shall man be blessed.'
Well he was right and here they are -

His olive branches; verdant, speaking peace and unconcerned,
Scattering love without condition at one
Who accepted, disbelieving, privileged.

The peace is shattered now as that one says
'Here's a thing; important, threatening,
Changing everything for something else.
Question without answer.'

The laughter and the dinner table chat fall still.
Strained faces, breathless, wanting to deny
The words that sit, immanent, upon the tongue.
Their eyes are pleading.
No don't speak. Just let things be as they have always been.

But holding the hand of one who was to be the fruitful vine upon his
house
That one says.
'I'm not the man you thought I was.
In fact I'm hardly any man at all.

But man enough to tell you
How I want to love.
How all these years
I've been without the honour
You all thought I had.
I am a liar.'
Judas. Loving betrayer.

As with the sex
Honour and truth out themselves now.
The words fall, smooth; are swallowed whole,
And sear salt pours from their wounds
Into mine.

The words grind on until
There is no further grist.
The deed is done.
Then silence.

Now olive branches wither, fingered by the truth.
In ten short minutes
That one has gone from lover, father, friend
To stranger.

But bonds are fierce and will not break
And young, firm arms encircle pain
A young mouth stamps a kiss upon a head.
Through tears he hears.
'You're very brave.'

And that one says
That bravery is only tested through a crucible of fear.
And now that fear is less
So is the courage.

Old, half remembered words have sudden truth.
He understands.
He has been blessed.

Bob Parsons, March 2000