Exodus 10:4

I am Wind

gusting

high shrieks

of despair, the moan of slaves

who can’t speak. The sky coughs storms

of locusts, a twitching black mass of tiny bodies

buries Egypt, every surface dark for days,

a locust cushion for Pharaoh’s throne.

“Make it stop!” he cries, as if he’s sorry he enslaved you.

As if I believe him, I blow away the locusts

while I harden his heart.

How easy for me to have blown him away,

pulverize Pharaoh and all the haters who’ll follow —

freeing you straight out.

Freedom gained that easily won’t last.

I think you know this.

I saw your suffering, I hear it still —

(“I” am a Name

for the power of a freedom story,

eye of wind, the sound of air

moving through you)

I am Breath

If you quiet yourself, you can hear

the still small voice,

words rising from air and memory

to shape a story you’ll keep telling.

Shelby Allen