HOLY MOSES

by Jnana Hodson

assuming I was an only child
an orphan with a crow, rather than a snake

not quite what we experienced
as crawdads eyeing
Holsteins along the flat creek
below the Funny Farm, which had been Shaker

maybe you already know
honestly

the wilderness of the meadows or city

great land a’livin’, as my grandfather exclaimed

he, who could have taught me to fish, didn’t
though I’ve since read letters of his trips and
remember now his gear stashed in his attic
in our flatlands
a block from the muddy river I fled
never telling him of elk
much less trout and salmon
or Dungeness crab on my plate

or the visions from the mountains
I climbed
while he read of Sinai

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Copyright 2015

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