I never got to know you before you killed us.

I came in like a puppy, dancing - open.
Thinking you wonderful,
glad to sit with you.

I wanted us to sing in harmony . . . to Him.
I believed we heard the same music.
But truly I did not know you.
You had a scream in you, not a song.

I gave you my guileless heart.
"Who is this dear person? A soul I like."
But you smacked me before I ever knew you.

There was a rank darkness in you,
a stick in your hand I had not noticed,
some angry cage I rattled by joy.

It's clear. I did not know you. 

Like some mean and weary mother dog,
you growled and bit me.
Your "bad-dog" scolding sent me reeling in
a shame I didn't merit and
pains I didn't earn.

The puppy runs to hide from you
and would cower under the porch.

You aimed your
blows to hurt the softest spots.
You are a skillful biter,
not new at it.
Who hit you that you so little mind
striking me?
and those around me . . .
I am beginning to know you. 

And though I say, "who are you?"
I ask in the shocking knowledge
you gave me of your sick soul.
I know you now because you told me. 

But by the gentle grace of my Real Owner,
under the love of that caressing hand,
I hear His dire thoughts and ruling purpose
so . . .
I am willing still to know you.
 
Who beat you when you were a happy pup?
And what unlicked wound do you still carry?

I ask my Good Master to capture you into His lap,
pet your poison heart and tame you
until you lick His hand with puppy-love.

Copyright © 2002 Martha Kilpatrick