Alabaster Box

Let me come with my alabaster box.

I’ve saved and scrimped and taken all

For the purpose of buying fine spikenard.

I didn’t go to the prom or the ball,

But sat dirty out in the yard.

Long have I waited for the gazing eyes,

Gleaming out from that special face,

That fronts a brain, brilliantly scoped to crack

The code, embedded in my heart’s deep place.

Open my soul and bring me back!

Been many a time that I have settled,

And thinking the case good enough,

I would head off for the china closet,

Solely intent to bring out the good stuff,

But something would give me a pause.

It might be a noise I’d hear coming forth

Would cause some slight interruption,

But a doubt in the flow would break the spell—

And so never a full consummation.

Never surrender. Never tell.

But, here I am now with this antique box.

I’ve broken its great waxy seal,

Wanting so much to pour it all over

Your feet, and wash them with my tears and hair

And worship my one, true lover.

-jenn long