“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