Under the Oak Trees of Mamre Genesis 18
We have journeyed long between wilderness sun and shade
dragging Terah’s great vision with God-promises to match.
The years of hope and despair
grind out my soul
like mortar and pestle.
Give it up, Abram.
No descendants like stars.
Three visitors. “Welcome!”
Hospitality is survival out here.
“Get the flour, knead the bread old woman!”
“All of you who are mine –
kill the calf, smooth the cheese,
the richness of life on offer. Now!”
Earthly feast for heavenly presence.
Our poverty disguised.
A craggy old, baggy old
sack of bones
shrivelled by Hagar’s derision.
Hollowness remembered daily
in the shadow of her strapping young boy.
“Sarai will bear you a child”, the strangers said,
“before the year is out”.
I couldn’t help the laughter.
Beyond dry bitterness
an ironic splutter.
And so we laid together
like two open halves of a late summer peach,
drizzled with honey and juicy sweetness.
Just two old people
who love each other still.
Legacy for generations.