The Meeting

By Harris Bor

Silence only above the cattle bells
And low mooing,
an eagle circles overhead
Two men lead their caravans
From opposite directions
Sand between their toes
A breeze tugging at the beard
Of the one who stole

The hunter grasps the belted knife
At the sight of him
Across the ruddy plain
Not so slight, he thinks
The boy who stayed indoors has grown
As high as Edom’s heights
Set the men upon his wives and babes?
Kill him now or wait? 

Wait. Hold the pain.
Scream only inwardly at
The mother’s treachery
The father’s foolishness
Play the brother
Give the embrace
Hold out the hairy hand
That he could but emulate 

But listen. There is a tremble in the voice of Jacob
–desperation even–
when he gestures:
“Take my gifts brother. Take my gifts”
The hunter answers, “Do I have need of these?”
But wants to say, “Like the one you took of mine”
Wants to raise the knife above his brother’s neck
And draw the father’s blood left unspilt
in defiance of the angel’s saving call
Instead, he took the gifts and walked, and walked
Until the paths split, one to Seir and the other to Succot