Rizpah

2 Samuel 21

Say what you will of that man’s sin but my

sons, these sons of Israel will not go

to Sheol ungrieved. I know our hunger, yes,

I know how we haven’t seen any rain, I know

it all. It’s all the same to me, I will

lay this, my sackcloth, here – on this rock – and

here I will keep my watch. My sons will have

their funeral.

                          And Sheol will not have them ungrieved.

They came and said: it’s time to pay. For there’s

a debt that’s hidden somewhere in the pit

of the Earth, or the waters deep. A count

is kept, beyond the dome of heaven. And

it’s blood they want, lives are asked. Such things

are not my worry. All I know is that

I had two sons who are now dead and gone.

A hidden cause, His will or theirs, it’s all

the same to me. They can say what they want

and keep on saying, call me scornful, think

me irreverent – so be it: my sons

are dead, is all I know. So they can keep

their talk and I will keep my watch.

Not that I wish to quarrel with the Lord

Almighty. Truly, I know that he’s no man,

his ways above ours, plans beyond our wit,

and mortals, mere, his secrets won’t reveal.

I’ve heard these things, I know these words. I, too,

did see the festivals and heard the songs

they sang: he holds his court in the heavens,

the darkness covers him, and storm and fire

go ahead of him. The Lord’s his name, I know.

And it’s not justice I deny. But I’m

of earth, a woman made of flesh, from dust

to dust returning: it’s his justice not

mine. So, I will keep my watch here, on this

rock I’ll remain, come who or what.

                                                             Let me

say this as well while you are listening:

my mother bore him children. Chosen, not

choosing, given and taken, bore her lot.

I never saw him much, that strange man who

always seemed so afraid, as if he thought

the ground itself might swallow him up. None

could give him peace, no oath of loyalty,

nor riches or power. When he died, we fled

like others did. New king in town, we had

to go, like birds we fled and then we were

forgotten, free.

                            It’s all the same to me

for I’m no poet nor priest, and I’ve no gift

for prophecy, I’m just a woman, and

no more, and none of this matters. Their plots,

intrigues and cunnings won’t matter. Power

is still the same. But now my sons are dead.

So, judge me or revile me. So, come rain,

come wind, or heat without mercy, you will

still find me keeping watch right here. For as

long as I, dust and all, still breath on this

sorry Earth, my sons, these sons of Aiah,

will not go down to Sheol unwatched, ungrieved.