some corner street no one knew,
tucked behind the towering skies,
kept quiet its past and present,
as the old, dank river hid us from
what lies ahead for Miriam,
who watched it drift away
and wondered about tomorrow –
while the aging, city streets
lit some path for the corvée,
who still worked into the night,
and as it deadened with the air,
I, too, slaved away and feared for
the sudden silence of the children,
or hoped of a time when those
stately arms that unknowingly
drew me from the water’s edge
might return me to Jochebed’s.
