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I was revising an old poem today and decided I’d post it. Here it is:

Smashing Pots

In darkness Gideon stood
above the conqueror’s camp
with his few men.
Each gripped a horn
in his right hand,
while in his left
he held an earthen pot.
And each pot hid a torch.

The signal came.

They blew their horns,
and shouted victory;
they smashed their pots,
and glory blazed;
they shattered brittle clay,
they lit the night
and threw their captors into panic
by the sudden noise and light.

And what a bargain
those men made!
And what a modest price
they paid for victory!
They traded broken pots…
for peace,
a pile of shattered shards…
for liberty.

I have pots, too —
my expectations
dreams
habits
schedule
What I Want —
my earthly things.

Am I in another battle
that requires
a shattering?

© Becky Cerling Powers 1999

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