Moses

I’ve written notes
in my mind
for weeks
I was going to tell a story
like children do
compose it for breakfast
like grown ups do
with morning coffee
I was going to write a dance
then you might know how much I love her
how she lived in our bedroom at twilight
every bed time for a fortnight
almost a hundred years since her death
tramping brush
wading muddy rivers
full of heart ache
full of God’s grace
I hold her memory in my soul
tell you how I cried for her when she lay motionless
in a pool of her own blood
how I held my breath each time she disappeared in plain sight
cried with her
when another woman answered her husband’s door
cried in grateful praise of her
when she freed captives
held soldiers nearly dying/drifting away
and a thousand other miracles of love
I was going to tell you how my son
his heart like silver glass, rippling at dawn
loves Moses too
cried beside me
when she sang
Swing Low Sweet Chariot
and was carried home
but I don’t know how to begin
Harriet Tumban died on March 10th, 1913