The Moment He Called Me Israel

We paused from our fighting.  The day broke like a bone. 

Our sweat commingled, falling from our brows in drops.

The dawn sky flamed orange-red, and silence dripped through the desert.


Only days later, when the rains came slowly, then in washes,

did I wash the blood from my face and fingertips,

and the red water fell from my hands. 


I cried for the loss of home, and of Esau –


Esau, whom I strained to see

when the angel and I locked shoulders,

though saw only darkness, like my father,

like a hand passing over my face.

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