Twelve Years

Twelve Years
A Poem in Two Parts
Erin Kilmer

Twelve years unclean.
unclean.
Dealing with the filth
of my own
condemnation
day
after
day
for all those years.
unclean.
rejected.
stricken with poverty
because of my desire
to just be
clean.
And then–
Jesus.
reaching out in desperate
hope,
touching just His garment–
defiling the Healer
with my touch–
and made clean.
Healed from defilement
with one touch.
“Daughter,
your faith has made you well.”
Clean.

********

Twelve years old
dying.
Apple of my eye,
Love of a father’s heart,
growing sicker
day
after
day
until the day I knew.
Gasping.
Dying.
Pale and thin–
my daughter I had loved
and held on my knee
and rocked to sleep.
And then–
Jesus.
Running to Him in desperate
hope,
then hearing those words–
“She is dead.”
But no–
He says she only sleeps,
And then,
she lives.
Talitha, cumi.
Alive.

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3 thoughts on “Twelve Years

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