Under my instruction,
the servants turn my swamp into a beautiful garden,
underneath which rivers flow.
For they know that today is the day
the basket that carries Moses, will float by.
Egypt knows he’ll be the one to stand up for the world’s plight.
Mount Sinai is delivering his prayers with the wind
sending a calm along the river Nile.

The clouds promised me they won’t cry today.
Along the riverbed the trees arch forward to provide shade
for my baby’s coming.
I’ve perfumed my hair and worn my best clothes
ordered the sun to provide the day with a Middle Eastern glow.
There are villagers plucking their olive trees
wringing the juices from aloe vera leaves
in preparation for the King’s celebratory feast.

I’ve laid down white flowers
lit candles
and paper boats on the river,
so my baby won’t have to float in
by himself.


You were meant to be here a day ago.
The tree’s backs are breaking
the sun is becoming impatient
and the orange glow has turned
into a burning sensation
and the flowers are returning in a shade of red
that the mystics would question.
And a storm is brewing
and heavy drops are starting to fall
and the Nile’s tide has turned spiteful.
And the Israelites murmur under their breath
that I am cursed by the resonance
of Abraham’s infertility,

I go to ask the King for the key to the dam.
Maybe my Moses is stuck.
Maybe he can’t find his way.

I feel a chill coming from Mount Sinai
as the King denies me the keys.
Tells me that the astrologers believe
I’m not ready for the tests that Moses will bring.
That he’ll ruin me and he will not turn out to be
the son that I hoped he will be.

I notice the birds sitting on the window ledge
who sit waiting for my response.
They fly away upon hearing nothing but a solemn silence.
The red velvet curtains hold hands, blocking out the peering sun.
I demanded the truth from my husband.

His lips tells me that the people are not ready
to part from their ancestors’ belief.
His hands tell me more as he clutches on to the stones of his crown.
I see the keys around his neck when he sits on his throne.
I see the smile on his face that says
I’m crazy for crying over something I’ve never had.
I see the look in his eyes that says
it’s my fault for believing that Moses could ever be mine.


2 thoughts on “Moses

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