Sarah Cries

My husband did not tell me
He was taking my son,
My only son, born in my ninety-first year –
They have disappeared now for three long days –
I panic – where did they go?

In my mind’s eye I see them
Climbing a steep, rocky mountain -
Is my husband – already a hundred and thirty-seven –
Losing his mind?
He binds my son’s feet and hands,
Places him on an altar, raises knife.

I cry out, I sob, I wail,
Like the sounds of the horn
Of the ram caught in thicket behind him.
I tremble, my wails and sobs
Pierce like the razor-sharp, raised knife
And I release my soul….