Her life in turmoil,
sad in a poor home,
no money to spend,
two halfpennies left.
———–
The lawyers look on with glee,
another widow, vulnerable and poor,
steal her home, send her to in-laws
oppress her till she numbly goes.
——
They set the bar high,
in the temple treasury,
2 coins is a must,
so she hounded obeys.
—–
He sits watching,
tears in his eyes,
points to her,
to her offering.
—–
Her head bowed in submission,
she gives only what she has,
cries for her losses and hunger.
—–
She put in the most,
he says, and hurts
for her grief, her widowhood,
starved of choices.
——
Like the doves they sell,
She’s come to the temple, to be
trampled and sacrificed, on the
altar of law, greed and guile.
——
Jesus will find her,
kindly reassure her. God
does not exact money from
the poor. Only men blinded
by their need, who used a
poor woman’s fear.
———
Still today Jesus weeps
over the shackled poor,
paying more toxic tax
than those who earn more.
