The mark of Cain

The mark of Cain

Genesis 4:1-16

For my Dad who carries the mark.

The sweat blinds my eyes,

I must watch.

The sun pins me down,

I cannot move.

My brothers toil in the dust,

cursing the earth as they dig.

Across the dirty road a row of houses

kneel silently, waiting.

A door opens and a shadow spills out into the light.

As she moves a boy and his father follow,

almost hidden in her oily black shadow.

Their dark, doll-like eyes stare past me,

through me

to my brothers working in the field.

The workers stop and look over,

resting.

The dark trio stop,

looking.

I stand,

watching.

The smooth, oily barrel of a gun rises from the man’s shadow,

a black snake pointing towards my brothers.

As the shotgun levels I am crouching,

weapon ready.

He falls as my bullet punches his chest.

Now there is screaming and I am turning.

The boy is also armed and yells at me as he shoots from the hip.

For a second time my weapon fires, a body falls.

The tears blind my eyes,

I must watch.

The sun pins me down,

I cannot move.

My brothers pull me away,

I am driven from the ground,

driven from the ground which opened its mouth

to receive my brother’s blood

from my hand.