“By this crimson cord,

 tied to the casement of your only window,

the coming sword will know

 to withdraw its edge.”

Rahab knew her knots,

she had been well taught

by sailors land-locked

and love-born who dragged

their heels to her thick-walled

harem—the only place for miles

that smelled of ocean.

Rahab knew her faith

she had her wits about her

and wore them like her hair

long and sandy

combed and loose

crashing over and over

like mantras across her shoulders.

Many a captain foundered there.

Rahab knew her rights

she took the Sabbath off

and read all night

by precious lamplight

lit well before dusk.

Spy novels.

She took her books to heart.

They saved her when agents

came to feel out all her land.

What they measured had a price:

salvation for her family’s life.

She knew their mighty God

and put herself on his payroll

through a simple confession of love

and some ancillary lies.

In the end nobody escaped

bondage to the casement

of her only window.

She tied spies and king and Jacob’s Lord

with a single length of crimson cord