For my children,

I would swim into the jaws of cold, vicious death.

Without a blink or shudder,  I would battle

sulfurous dragons

for the fruit of my womb, my "quiver of arrows."

For my husband, heart of my hearts,

I would take a bullet,

face a gang,  walk the plank.

For a stranger,

I might not mind writing a check, catching a cold,

going out of my way, giving directions,

sharing a coupon in the grocery line. 

In contrast,
when I was a stranger and an enemy,
a thirty year old man
wore a piercing crown
and died a lonely, bloody death.
He took the brunt
for anonymous millions
to make us brothers,
not strangers.

In light of my own stingy and
primitive love,
I ponder in amazement.
Draw me close, oh Lord,
and make me bigger than I am.

Let me love the strangers, too; 
for you cherished me
like an only daughter
when I was a rebel.