When Jesus Was Grown
His mother breathed a deep sigh of relief
when he turned 25 and nothing strange
had happened. (Maybe it was all a dream,
that business with the angel).
She might yet manage to arrange a match
with some nice Jewish girl — it was high time —
and then she could relax, look forward to
a few polite grandchildren.
But though he was the finest carpenter
for miles around, had really learned the trade,
and knew and loved the Torah, nonetheless
she had concerns about him.
He seemed too fond of prophecies about
the world turned upside down, and although she
was charitable to a fault, she felt
he loved the poor to excess.
And now there was a prophet drawing crowds,
living on locusts, wearing camel skin.
His preaching was outrageous, and she hoped
her son would never hear it.
by Gail White
from Autumn Sky Poetry Number 21, April 2011
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim