Thorns and Rose and Other Poems
by Christel Jeffs
THORNS AND ROSE
To hold a wild rose
is a study in suffering.
To show me how,
he clips the stem and passes it over.
At first I fear to touch, for the talons are glaring.
I take in the bright petal folds:
satin, feathers, the softest of leather.
I pull in a breath and pinch the rose
between forefinger and thumb.
It waves in my grasp, shaking droplets of rain onto my legs
which are bowed at the knee.
My hand takes hold.
Then I am stabbed twice,
thrice over.
Abrupt bursts of red appear on my hands and
pain multiplies as I recall every thorn of my flesh.
Why must one so lovely have the power to hurt?
Why would One so lovely say, “This flower is for you”?
Take it from me,
I beg of you.
And every time he says,
I already have.
I swallow my protests and hold the thorns and rose.
The trembling rain splashes my face.
Water whispers over and through my hair, down my forehead.
Streaks of blood and water color my hands.
I see a bloodied crown,
iron thorns in his own,
and I now know him
in the study of suffering.
GETHSEMANE GROUND
1.
I feel like I’m writing in the dirt.
I’m writing gritty words
in fallow graves,
vacuous flower beds.
I wonder what Christ was thinking as
he traced holy fingers
in similar earth.
Did he think of me?
Did every face of the world appear before him
as he spoke the Word that saves?
Did he hold close the promise
that nothing he sent would fail?
Like no one can guess the words
he stirred in the dust that day,
we can only marvel at
what might be written in the dirt.
2.
I wonder what Christ was thinking
when he placed holy fingers
on Gethsemane ground.
Did he write there too,
to soothe the body?
We know he wept
and poured out sweat—
heavy and red—
into the earth
hours before the Seed died.
3.
I need the mercy of Someone who shaped bodies from dirt,
who fell on the earth of a garden.
I need to dig deep
in Gethsemane ground,
deeper still to till and weave
tales of strength
from the soil of sorrow,
that I might grow into depths
of love beyond myself.
For what might be written if
the pen becomes a ploughshare,
if the pen begins the planting?
CHRISTEL JEFFS
Christel Jeffs is, first and foremost, a beloved daughter of God: the one that Jesus loves. Beyond that, she is a writer, editor, and counselor. She lives in Northland, New Zealand, the place that serves as the backdrop for her debut novel, The Gumdigger’s Wife (2016). Her poetry has been featured in several places: Fast Fibres Poetry anthologies and the literary journals Vessels of Light and Calla Press. She loves to help others re-write their stories through her counseling work while continuing to author her own, guided by the greatest Storyteller of all.
Instagram: @christel.jeffs