The Stump of Jesse
I cut that
tree years ago, felled it to the ground, because I could
Though it
was taller and stronger and had been there longer
Than I had.
I thought I
had won, of course, but now there is this stump,
And I just
can’t seem to kill it, I catch my blade on it, and it just
Won’t stay dead.
Below the
ground, I guess, what I cannot see, I have not even dented,
Since I
find it blocking every hole I’d hope to dig, again it’s just there
In
my way.
And this invisible
underground network, must keep fueling, every spring
This new
sprig, this vine, shooting forth from the center, I must again
Cut
it off.
Could this
be how the Romans felt, and the scribes and the pharisees,
When they planted
a tree on Calvary to kill this King of the Jews, this
Stump of Jesse?
