Poetry

At first I thought that Zechariah burned his foot,
the way he pointed at the fire and hopped around.
But when he swirled his cloak around him
like majesty itself,
I guessed, “Angel?
You saw an angel?”
Then the flame leapt in his eyes
and the wrinkles around his mouth
radiated over his entire face.
For a long moment, I too stood mute.

He traced an arc out from my belly.
“Pregnant? God’s promise of some young woman …?”
He hushed me with a finger to my lips.
It was then, before he ever held me,
that I knew.
How was it with you?

Bill McConnell is a member of Peace Mennonite Community Church, Aurora, Colo.