fences

Amongst the myriad other things I'm currently attempting to cram into my waking hours, I'm trying to prepare for some “alternative” worship I'm leading on Sunday, so unusually have been looking at poetry. This is not something I'm using for the service but it struck me so I thought I'd share it:

The Fence by Lesley Dickens, in Faith in her words: Six centuries of women's poetry compiled by Veronica Zundel.

The framework was founded

before I acknowledged a boundary

but when I saw its bare structure

its feet deeply trenched, its arms

inviting cover, I began to gather

wooden slates, to shape and smooth,

to measure and to count the length.

I did not question. A fence is a fence.

I knew the carpenter's joy,

the pleasure and the pain of wood;

the smooth face of work well done

the bloodied broken hands

I understood. A fence is a fence.

No pretence. It separates, divides,

fulfils a territorial need, sets

out the space in which to live our lives.

The gap grew smaller til I could

no longer pass from side to side

though still could reach your hand

should your heart dare the crossing.

Without a question, I raised the last

plank, set it to bridge a space

took up the Roman nail, placed it

and began to hammer home a hope.

The darkening sky, a black crow's cry

The stillness of a waiting world

Restrained my thudding wrist

Drew my eyes to a wooden pause

To a half-buried memory of you

To a sense of security turned sour

To a prison's perfect perimeter

To the futility of fences in the ninth hour.

As the first tears fell, the drops

That precede the storm,

I lowered my hammer, to ask

the origin, the outcome of my task.

A fence is a fence.

A defence.

A pretense.

An offence.

From whence came the sword

That pierced my heart, to turn

me from habit to honesty

To cut across the great divide.

To challenge me. To hide

or to hope. Neither wood

nor rope could hold

nor my foolish frame withhold.

So must I at the last nail

decide

In whose garden I stand and

how wide

the gap to be bridged between

fenced-in hopes and the hand

that beckons from the other

side.

When we've put so much effort into the construction of our fences, I can understand our reluctance to break them down again. I've not yet regained the zing I had during last night's singing but will no doubt today be on the look out for mine and other people's fences, and offering/accepting a hand over...