Hello Yosef.
I’m here, Yosef.
You’re in trouble. You’re worried. You’re broken.
Your brothers sold you.
They wanted to kill you.
They made as though you were torn apart,
And in a way, you were,
And will be.
But I’m here, Yosef.
You’re on camelback,
a caravan of slave traders,
of gas peddlers.
But I’m here, Yosef.
Breathe in.
Does it smell like oil?
Does it stink like tar?
No, it smells of aromatic spice,
Like your mother’s tent,
Like an orchard at home.
It’s Me, Yosef.
Your brothers may have abandoned you.
Your mother may have departed.
Your father, bereaved.
But I’m here, here in the caravan.
Here in the spice baggage –
And had it been their usual burden of stink,
I would be here too,
But you might not have known.
I wish you could know
That you truly are royal
That your dreams will come true
And I know you not to be the fool
That your brothers see.
I wish you could know
That you are stronger than anything that could happen –
Than your brothers, than your slave drivers
Than the galleys of Egypt
The pits and the cells of the world
The palace, even
And that we need you strong
And that’s why you’re headed there.
I wish you could know
That your not knowing hurts me
That I cry with you.
And that’s why I’m here
In the whiff of comfort
The scent of something better
Something you can’t point to
But can breathe in
Filling your lungs with hope
Or forgiveness
Or wonderment
Or nothing.
But one day, you will tell them
That I was with you.
I was with you on the caravan
That took you south
To be king
And one day, you will tell them
That they are strong
Even when they feel as slaves
Even when they know no peace
Even when it stinks like tar
There will be whiffs
Of hope
And like you, they will sense
Their inner king.
Tell them I’m here, Yosef.
In the caravans of life
In the desert breeze
They can find me.
Tell them I’m saying hello.
