For my mother
What happened
to that burning
bush?
I.
It was tumbleweed—
when Moses was done
looking
it rolled itself into
fireball
+ kept going.
II.
The Hebrew word for burning bush
and bright leaf
differ by a single pen stroke.
And
no scribe is perfect.
Which is to say,
Moses stopped for an
unseasonably
rosy bush.
The rest
is history.
III.
If a tree
burns
in the Sinai desert
+
no one is around to hear The Voice of God,
what then?
IV.
There are burning bushes everywhere.
My yard is full of them.
They shudder under the weight of ash
but snuff out the cigarettes
when the neighbors lean
out their windows.
V.
i.
Nothing happened.
The bush was
a menorah
with oil that would not
go out.
It is still there.
ii.
Wouldn’t you want
to be
a burning bush?
To be engulfed
but
not consumed?
I douse myself
in all of this
but can’t find the lighter—
VI.
A sparrow
lit on an
upper branch.
Its
wing tip
caught fire
till the bird
was
one feather of
flame.
Then
it flew
up
past the mountain.
VII.
My mother says:
Look
at cedar trees.
This one has lost
its red needles.
Now it stands
in a small lake
of rust.
It is saying:
I am naked
because
I gave my
cloak
to the earth.
It needed it.