We gathered on the border
between life and death,
a wretched community united
by necessity, not choice.
Unclean, unfit for healthy society,
we were a moveable isolation ward;
stand at a distance, shout
your greetings from afar.
Friends in despair, Jew and Samaritan;
the borders drawn so sharply by our leaders
blur ridiculously. Ritual and good religion
will not make anyone clean.
But when the Jewish Prophet sent us back
to reclaim our lives, and our borders;
we danced and shouted and sang;
and touched our skin with wonder.
I still thank God, as I did that day,
when, rushing, I returned and fell at the feet
of the one who knew no borders.
And I still touch my skin with wonder.
© Ken Rookes