The Binding An old man walks uphill and builds an altar, prepares wood for the burnt offering. A boy follows his father, not knowing where they will find an animal to slaughter. There is a long, tense pause, an instant thick with trembling, when a weathered hand covers the soft face and pushes the precious head against the kindling. The knife gripped firmly in a knotted fist, the blade set to plunge into soft neck and splash a boy’s life across the rock – now, only an angel of the Lord could stop it. The ram in the thicket. The scent of fat melting over stone. This miracle boy will live, have sons, grow old and blind. He’ll laugh at his blessings when the Lord provides joy enough to forget the books of old men, fathers who carry knives and fire, and the sacrifice required to build a nation. No, he will be thankful. The Lord provides. Ben Weakley Ben Weakley lives and writes in the Appalachian Highlands of Northeast Tennessee. His work won the 2019 Heroes' Voices National Veterans Poetry Competition. He has previously published in The Ekphrastic Review and his poetry can also be found in Portside and Modern Haiku Magazine.
1 Comment
8/13/2020 06:26:31 am
I felt as if I were there with Abraham and Issac. Ben’s words gave the painting an even more vivid color.
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September 2024
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