In the Footsteps of Job

by Bonnie Kallis

Honorable Mention, Poetry, Create | Encounter 2025

Casting Her Pearl Before Swine

The Oyster rests in the silken sand of a quiet cove

the gentle sea stroking her shell

As she secretly nurtures the treasure within—

The soft, milky-white Pearl.

Time passes quickly in the sea

the sea life and sea foam float by

And the Oyster still protects the treasure within—

The glowing natural Pearl.

Years plunge forward, the Pearl fully-formed—

the Oyster slightly relaxes her hold

And man violently snatches the treasure from her—

The shattered natural Pearl.

The Paralytic

Go ahead, touch it—the pain.

What are you afraid of? That the oozing mass will engulf you?

Swallow you up? Smother you?

It already has.

That’s what happens when you refuse to go near it—to acknowledge it—to caress it even.

It begins wrapping itself around you, immobolizing you and then...

begins to squeeze—into your head, your heart, your soul.

You have to force yourself to see it, touch it, smell it, even taste it before you can...

feel it and eventually crush it.

It exists, but I AM.

A Self of Her Former Shadow

Curling, swirling, mingling with the sky

a brief puff of nothingness floating by

observes the faint passage of her shadow

Over the immutable granite below.

Is there substance? If so, where?

Where is the proof she’s not merely air?

She sinks and settles on the dusky earth,

condensing, reforming—a rebirth.

No longer an anchor holding her back,

earth nourishes her preparation for attack.

Against a backdrop of verdant green,

she no longer avoids being seen.

New Eden

Rising from the clutter of broken promises and

and unfinished projects she finally stood to make her way past

the electrified barbed-wire fence—gingerly and cautiously—

at first.

And despite the barbs of her doubts and the clamoring criticisms of others,

She made it through.

Stunned, she moved slowly at first,

but suddenly found herself racing (considerably faster than she had in years).

Until she plunged through to the lush other side—to an amazing cornucopia:

Drooping vines of plump grapes, glistening oranges with their sticky-sweet smell engulfing the air—everything alive and vibrant.

She had arrived.

Artist Statement:

This work chronicles the traumatic harm caused when one's church turns its back on abuse. While your guidelines refer to a maximum of 30 lines, this submission is meant to be read as a "mini-series" written over a period of years.