Poetry

The passing

The Passing

I am the firstborn in my family:
if I had been an Egyptian,
it would have been me.

How would the passing, even the prospect, feel?
Were they afraid?
scoffing?
wondering?
hoping, maybe? some?

What would it be
to be swept up in the arms of Israel’s god,
the god of our slaves,
those stronger than we,
those whom we feared?

Why did Pharaoh destroy us for these
to whom we happily gave our treasures?
“Let them go!” we said; “set them free!”

But he would not and so came the destruction
of our land,
our crops,
our livestock,
our water.

What would it be to pass into,
to be swept up in the arms,
the strong arms,
of Israel’s God?