Stops me dead
the day stalled before it starts
daylight dimming and the dark
coming down as if in an eclipse
like the one I’ll be too far away
to see…and there she is
Grandma coming down the steps
backwards, one black shoe
after the other, apron already
on, her armor against
the rare invasion
of questions she won’t answer
although she could.

How could I trust her–
or how not? After she took me
all of six years old, to the red
and gold theater for the first
movie I ever saw–an epic
of course, God and all his ministers
up against the Egyptians
who I preferred anyway
because they had much better stuff
gold jewelry and white linen
stylishly draped, while all
those dull shepherds
lived in rough tents
with nubby fabrics and wild hair
their God interrupting their enemies
with blood and bugs and green smoke
killing children to get His way
taking His favorites
through the split river
then drowning all the rest

No wonder I had nightmares
Grandma’s favor never saved me
from her one-legged brother’s
unwanted attentions, sins
she forgave him and blamed me
for later, shuffling off all revenge
onto my small shoulders
and hands that weren’t
brave enough to kill.
Though when he died she was
sad enough and I was glad
as those rescued shepherds
coming out safe with all
their enemies under
God’s relentless flood.