As if the collar never loosed around
my neck, the gold of Egypt laid
across my lap, the sea ripped, howling,
in half. As though the words were never
etched into the stone by the same
divine finger that burned the bush,
stripped sandals from my feet, pointed
me back to the teeth of the Nile.
We chose to live through years
of plagues; locusts climbing from
our mouths, the stink of holy cattle
rotting on the plains, years of waiting
at night for fire in the desert, forgetting
the blood smeared on our foreheads,
door sills, feeling alone–as all who live
in darkness feel lonely.