Sinai
by James Hannon
Under the unquenchable mid-day fire,
to bake, to smolder, to drink this much
and no more,
always hungry, feet groaning
and for what, he asked the beginning.
The relentless wind threatened madness
and hurled sand into his nose and ears.
But still clear the creaking laugh of the vultures,
some to take his staff, some to pick his bones.
I am mad, have been mad, a foolish child
driven by disgrace, haunted by history,
now the boss cow of beasts in the field.
Are we ruined who had to drink the cup
of submission for so many years?
Up here far from the crowd
but still in his own crowded head
he would stay until he lost himself
in a blessing or in death.
The sun declined
toward the homes they had left behind.
Lights began to blink on the desert floor.
New fires filled the spaces --
differences fade in the darkness.
If these fires could burn forever.
If their need for each other
could bear the light of day.
A gourd of water,
almonds, figs, and dates
bushes and boulders
and their moon shadows
chortling hyraxes nearby
screeching fox farther off
cool air to his lungs
the sweet smell of acacias
as he lay on his back
looking up at the stars
filling the night sky
and there, the north star that
would guide the next stage
of their journey if ….
and then sleep
A fox darts by him.
He follows to a cave.
A fire burns at the entrance.
The fox jumps through the fire
but he hesitates,
then passes through the flames.
Twelve foxes gather in a circle,
argue, bark, and scream until
a leopard’s roar fills the cave
and then words resound
in the cramped space.
I am delivered
bondage
Egypt
graven
More sounds bounce off the walls
and he realizes he is speaking.
As they leave his mouth the words
dance in the air, then gather into shapes.
The foxes whimper and flatten their ears.
He is awakened by his own voice.
Lying still he listens to the ticking cicadas.
The moon has moved little, but he rises.
He would need to move quickly.
James Hannon is a psychotherapist in Massachusetts where he accompanies adolescents and adults who are recovering from addictions and mood disorders and seeking meaningful and joyful lives. His poems have appeared in Blue Lake Review, Cold Mountain Review, Pensive, Psaltery and Lyre, and other journals and in Gathered: Contemporary Quaker Poets. His second poetry collection, To My Children at Christmas, was published in 2022 by Kelsay Books. Jameshannonpoetryplus.com.
