At the Suffering Cafe
Poem
You picked this place for us?
I heard the waiters bring a pile
Of everything gone rotten
And then serve it family style.
Disgusting, right? You’re sure
You want to order? Well, your loss.
That stew looks tough to swallow—
To say nothing of the cost.
It’s what this spot is known for.
I probably should try it,
But I’ve no appetite for pain—
Can’t fit it in my diet.
No, I made my own meal.
Doesn’t this look fun?
A platter I arranged myself,
It’s Luxury—for one.
It’s fresh, refined, delicious.
I don’t have to wait at all.
I only wish my portion
Didn’t seem so very small.
Thank goodness they don’t charge me.
No better way to dine
Than choosing what I want
And paying only for what’s mine.
How’s yours? It smells atrocious.
Oh, no — you’re kind to offer.
I know it’s meant for sharing,
But I have no taste to suffer.
That couple in the corner, though—
They choose to eat this stuff?
They’re even swapping plates!
Their insides must be something tough.
The giant group behind us
Has been huddled there forever.
I can’t believe they found the room
To seat them all together.
Well, my food won’t make itself.
Some prep at home won’t hurt.
You’re staying? But your plate is gone.
…What do you mean, dessert?
Like I would ever order
from this garbage something more!
I’m walking out. I’m leaving.
I’m…pausing by the door…
Is that an ice cream mountain
From the kitchen? They’re not able
To carry it—it’s everywhere—
It’s burying the tables—
They’re ecstatic! Passing buckets round
For all! It looks divine!
They’re making sherbet angels!
Sledding trays down the line!
It almost makes me wonder
If I should have tried to eat.
It’s strange a dish so awful
Can give way to something sweet.
But sacrifice? No, thank you.
I’ve done my best to spurn it.
It’s thirsty work, avoidance,
But I’d say that I have earned it.
Ilana Baer
Ilana Baer studied literature at Westmont College, where she was mentored by poet Paul Willis. She’s grateful that God made poetry wide enough for both the silly and the sacred.
2024: Nehemiah
Pantoum for a Prophet
What good is doing good, when evil creeps back in?
The thing we built together—
stone upon stone, a scrape of tar
for the heaven-maker, the fashioner of the stars—
betrays the goodness that permitted it.
Once shaken by cries known far away, hear
how joy becomes contrition in a moment.
I’ve been here before.
Drawing my remembrance toward
forever from always,
I pledge an oath I know I cannot keep.
I’ve been here before,
shaken by cries known far away, here
for ever, in all ways,
betraying the goodness that permitted me
to pledge an oath. I cannot even keep
stone upon stone. A scrape of tar
draws my remembrance toward
how joy becomes contrition. In a moment,
the heaven-maker fashioned the stars.
What good is doing good when evil creeps back in
the thing we built together?
O heaven-maker, fashioner of the stars,
draw our remembrance toward
what good is. Doing good when evil creeps back in:
stone upon stone, a scrape of tar,
the thing we build together.
Be true to goodness. Permit us,
once shaken by cries known far away, to hear
how joy transcends contrition in a moment:
I’ve been here before
forever to always;
I pledge an oath I cannot help but keep.
Description
Israel’s history contains both tall mountaintop moments of glory and deep valleys of forgetfulness. Nehemiah and Ezra lead their people in great rejoicing and solemn promises as they all confess their sins, rededicating themselves to obedience. But it doesn’t take long for them to break their covenant, just as their ancestors did before them. How, then, can we guard against despair? What’s the sense of committing to righteousness when fallibility seems to win over and over? This poem type is called a pantoum. The lines of the first stanza are present in the following stanzas, but they take on a different order—and so a different meaning. Though we return to our failure in ways new and old, God will always prove Himself to be radically, ceaselessly faithful.