14.13

14.13

When I was young, he took me with him to the court.
We’re not in rags, those who appear before the king.
Miraculous that we were there but pharaoh never was in doubt.
It was not he who said these words. It was my father.
The king demanded sign to prove the truth of words.
My father did what he was told to do.
He cast his staff upon the ground.
I, by his side, had no idea what would occur.
In instant, quick, when struck the ground, became a snake.
His wizards all in practiced unison
held staves aloft to mock my father’s act
and all at once, to ground, they cast them down.
To snakes, their staves, all of them did transform!
The narrative does not at all relate this fact,
but all who witnessed these acts were so shocked.
Or else, would scream or run in terror.
Their shock or circumspection held them still.
A host of snakes now on the floor.
Aaron’s was aggressive. Moved quickly toward the others.
He ate them up. When finished, was completely full.
Snakes of the sorcerers, time to digest.

Now, upon the seashore, not my father’s voice I hear, but his.
From him, whose words seem always crazed.
Would not bear scrutiny but for the fact the words he speaks come true.
As well as snakes, I saw the frogs.
The water, blood, and gnats and flies,
and all those babies dead.
My God, what god is this who claims me as his own?
I cannot turn away but would.
Now on this seashore, to despair, the place where I would flee.
In my mind, all I see are writhing snakes!
How can it not be true?
It’s what I saw and now here with this man.
My father’s brother’s tripping balls.
(You know they knew of all that stuff back in the day.)
Would never follow crazed or drugged,
but damn, those fucking snakes!
Are all I see now in my mind, insane!
He stands there now on shore with arms outstretched.
It never is his staff he gets to use.
Magicians’ means, as tool for their dark arts.
His tools: his hands, those hands that God did make.

Upon my cheek, the east wind starts to blow.