The Crow I Brought to Jabbok

 (A Wrestling Poem)

By: Nathan Fletcher

I’ve got a crow to pick with you

you didn’t do the thing I asked you to.

You didn’t go, you didn’t say,

you turned and walked the other way.

And now I’m left here asking how

how could you fail me then and now?

I’ve got a crow to pick with you.

You chase the look, the style, the view

the hair, the clothes, the borrowed charm,

the swagger clutched beneath your arm.

Do they admire, want your place?

Or do you lose another race?

I’ve got a crow to pick with you.

You’re cold and hard in what you do.

You give them ease, you give me pain,

they walk in sun, I stand in rain.

They taste the blessing you withhold;

I get the burden, harsh and cold.

I’ve got a crow with you…yes, you.

The child, the grown one, old and new.

You never listened, never let

my voice be heard without regret.

You shaped me with a wounded hand

and left me struggling just to stand.

And I’ve a crow with God above

why wounds instead of healing love?

Why silence when I begged for sound?

Why let my heart be dragged around?

Why them? Why me? Why hide Your face?

Why linger long and slow Your grace?

But oh, you foolish wandering soul,

you pecked at others to feel whole.

You picked and picked till all that’s left

is you…alone, self made, bereft.

A ragged bird inside a nest

of shredded pride and unrest.

So what is left? What can you do?

Eat the crow you carried through.

Or something harder…something true:

begin the work inside of you.

Clean your house both room and mind,

leave no resentment left behind.

For bitterness is proof you hide

the truth you fear is locked inside.

So lift a weight that makes you strong;

let meaning pull your life along.

Stop fixing them to dodge yourself,

stop stacking judgment on the shelf.

Shift the aim and be one worth praise,

not one who scolds through bitter haze.

Choose gratitude you earn each day;

let humbled hands learn how to pray.

And last…before you break or bow

face what you’ve been avoiding now:

the grief, the shame, the shadowed part,

the wounded child within your heart.

Face the you you fear to name

for what you flee will stake its claim.

And crow

a meal both sharp and grim

is nourishment for those who swim

through midnight’s fight at Jabbok’s side

and wrestle truth they can’t outride.

Limp if you must, but rise and see

the blessing waits for those who face

their misery.