by Kath Higgens

(Luke 2:25-35)

Across the crowded temple court
our eyes lock.
Baby nestles
in a man’s muscled arms;
a woman stays close.
Questions bind us.

Those years of wondering
“How will I know him?”
dissolve into the ether.
A spear speeds out from me,
shaft wavering wildly,
as it meets its mark.

Who can believe
it has hit home
in this tiny bundle?

A whimper wafts by.
No magic aura.
I do not doubt this is the fulcrum.
Certainty hangs in the air,
as answers stalk questions,
as death stalks birth

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Kath Higgens, originally from the UK, worked for many years in the field of Bible translation in Central Africa, before retiring to South Africa. She has worked as linguist, anthropologist and teacher, and though poetry has long been a passion, she has come late to writing her own.