Vayigash
he spent twenty years in the dark, hands grasping for empty women and freckled sheep and crawling babes, for twenty years he worked his hardest and didn’t hear a word from God.
when he spoke his name and wrenched away a new blessing, the sun shone on him, twisted and whole and new. it said we’ve missed you, we’ve missed you.
a beautiful blood-soaked tunic stole the light again; its brilliance leeched the rest of the world black. for twenty years he wrestled with no one, folded smooth hands in a placant lap and felt empty, maybe blind, maybe done.
true his father could not see between him and his brother but he, oh he could not see his sons at all.
his quiet empty heart stopped when he heard the news--perhaps he’d just forgotten what the day light looked like. perhaps he’d lost the space for all this spirit. perhaps he’d forgotten his own name.
