Peniel

Let me begin by saying
I never once had the upper hand,
but I gave it everything I had.

I shouldn't have expected
to reach Canaan unscarred.

It has not come easily,
this life.
I had to fight, to scheme
for my birthright
(worth so much more
than a mess of pottage)
for my Rachel
(my beautiful,
scrappy stealer-of-gods)
for my visions
(born on pillow
made of dreamless stone).

I shouldn't have expected
to reach Canaan unscarred.

It did not pass quietly,
this night.
I thought this dream, this fight
was with my twin
(older, stronger,
though I can outwit him)
with my past
(my emulous,
scrappy stealing-of-blessing)
with myself
(born to hold on
to my brother’s heel).

I shouldn't have expected
to reach Canaan unscarred.

He did not give quarter,
this Warrior.
I met Him with everything
I could muster
(cunning, swiftness,
my best feints and holds)
through the night
(stubborn darkness
to the straining dawn)
conceding
(finally) that
I need His blessing.

I certainly don't expect
to become Israel unscarred.

Let me end by saying
I never once had the upper hand,
but I see, right here, the face of God.


The poem is mine; the painting is the work of Eugène Delacroix (1861).