MINHAH
By Rochelle Ratner

O Lord who created this world
and the next world
are you so proud of your earth
that you rage upon it?
Sunlight helps the crops also.

O God of Israel, what have I ever grown?
I'm twenty-six years old
and have no children.
Often I've wished my body made sterile,
protected from your seed forever.
Because seeds come through men,
Lord, no better nor worse than myself,
but surely barren of all higher meaning.

We plant fields, then eat of them.
Giving life, taking life.
Abel offered the best of his flock,
Cain a few fallen fruits in your honor.
Out of jealousy, we all would slay our brothers.

I stay inside, cursing your rain,
your wind, your thunder.
I don't want to mold children into this.
I offer myself in a poem
as I would in prayer,
calling it the seed I can grow on.
I am cleaning my heart with the words
until I'm sure that not a crumb remains.
Lord, for your name's sake I am trying.
If I fail, accept me as I am.

© Copyright 1992 by Rochelle Ratner
originally appeared in Someday Songs, Bkmk Press, 1992