So, why do you come here in your sack cloth and ashes?
What do you hope for here in the wilderness where the jackals of self-accusation roam?
Did shame whisper in your ear and insist on your attendance?
Was that it? Did shame insist on all this?
Do you, in fact, arrive in self-made clothes of guilt?
And what punishment must be given, here in the wilderness, where the jackals snarl, to make the trip worthwhile?
The punishment must hurt; it must harm you suitably and savagely. For how else will the worthless learn?
‘Stop crying – or I’ll really give you something to cry about!’
Though as I watch, and I watch closely, (it’s what I do) I only see you lifted up and hugged.
Scooped up and loved in the wilderness.
Who’d have thought?
And shame without voice.
And twisted shame quite without voice.
