Standing Trial with the Caught Woman

The old law called for both participants in adultery to face a trial by peers with stones in their hands. In John 8, a text with its own complicated story, we meet a woman who stands trial alone, at least for the time being. Nothing stays old. 

Her body is the only evidence
to survive the crime
for which she now stands trial.

She is certain they can see
the trace of his hands
on her skin,
the smell of his breath
on her face,
the sound of his voice
on her mind

He is somewhere else
gathering his clothes,
straightening his tie perhaps.
A quick escape,
a turned away face,
gave him the grace
of an escape
without any trace
of her
imprinted
on him.

She stands disordered.
Disheveled.
Discovered,
before a crowd of stones
meant to Order her,
Destroy her,
Cover her.

None of their hands are ready for this
Trial By Each Other.
But they hold on
to their convictions
while she clenches her hands
to hold on
to whatever is left
of herself.

Until one body,
with only his hands
where the weapons could be,
gets closer to the ground,

writes in the dirt,
like One who has written
mysteries, curses, graces,
into the dust before.

Words strong enough
to loosen their grip
and wring the judgment
from their fists,
to drop the death
they can barely wait to throw her way.
Words soft enough
to start her walking
where she is free,
with people who call her by name.

Words lost to the breeze
or the well-traveled road
of too many of our feet.

Words we will never get to read
until we too,

write love and life
down in the dirt,
where the trial by each other
sticks and stones towards another,
the death of our sister to save the face of our brother,

used to be.