by Margaret Mackinnon
..she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him...she took him as her son.
She named him Moses.
-Exodus, chapter 2
It was an early morning, almost
like any other—
the red sands along the shore not yet
illumined by the sun. The marshy reeds,
familiar cries of waterbirds.
And as if the river were itself a soul
guiding him to her, she saw a mild
light shining on the baby boy,
his rough-hewn craft, floating
there against the dark face of water.
All of it without her asking, almost,
she believed, without a need for reasons.
And years from now, she’ll tell herself
this was a moment—a moment
that was and always is—
and could not be wrong.
Some have said she was too foolish
to comprehend who those other
women were, why they stepped forward,
offered help. But I think she understood enough.
She knew that there are days to love—
she knew that infant’s simple, harmless heart.
That morning, she held him close—
soothed his cries. Stroked his back,
bent to the scent of his hair, his skin
now warmed and the world made
brighter as the hours changed.
Over years, it all would change, his story
loosed from any claim she had to him.
But even now, there are days the river-light
calls her. Those azure
hours long ago. And that darling boy!
She lifted the baby from his tiny boat
and spoke his holy name. She held him
then and whispered, yes and yes and yes.
Margaret Mackinnon’s poems have appeared in Poetry, Image, Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review, The Christian Century, and other journals.
Her first book, The Invented Child, won the 2011 Gerald Cable Book Award and the 2014 Literary Award in Poetry from the Library of Virginia. A new book, Afternoon in Cartago, was awarded the Richard Snyder Memorial Prize and was published by Ashland Poetry Press in 2022.
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