I Knew the Wound Had Closed

I Knew the Wound Had Closed

(“After the sun had set, people with all kinds of diseases were brought to Jesus. He put his hands on each one of them and healed them.” Luke 4:40)

How great is your power, your love, and your healing,
to touch mortal flesh like mine and leave me reeling
that I could survive so long without the warmth of you hands on my brow.
You cool the overheated wounds that still burst freely
like the first time they ruptured.

But in your touch, between your fingers, inside the hug
that lasted longer than any other hug,
there I found safety from the ways I only rewound my
wounds in moods of despair; I feared I would never
see the scars that reminded me they had once been healed.

It was under the stars, just as the sun was disappearing behind
the hills,
it was far away from a dark moon, it was dusky and chilled.
It was the time of evening when faces change. It was the time
that it takes longer to recognize friend or foe. That was when
I thought I saw you,
That was when I waited in line.

I never sang the blues, I know they would only cheer me up.
But dirges were on my tongue morning till evening, longer than
I spoke in the day.

I was marginally happy; I sat on the sidelines. I was invited to
parties I could not attend. I was unlawfully blind. But I knew
the touch the moment his fingers found my face and nearly
erased
every malignant nerve and thought. There, where the bats
flit above in the yawning light, I knew the wound was closed,
I was whole, and pain, though not entirely eliminated, might lead
me closer to the dawning sun.