April 6–12 ❘ Escape

Escape

There’s a bit of Pharaoh in me,
a voice that reasons miracles
aren’t real if they can be explained.

Israel’s children keep one night
etched in collective memory,
but I forget what I suffered yesterday
and shed from mind old plagues
and pleas once relief comes.

Signs multiply—safety, comfort,
smoothed paths from enemy
to friend—but I harden
under glut of answered prayers.
I imagine myself entitled to
and author of my own grace,

          yet God persists.
More patient than sift of wind
through Nile grass or ripple of life
lapping silted banks, He erodes
Egypt grain by grain from my soul,
sets me free to follow Him
into wilderness.

• Read more of my poetry at www.facebook.com/latterdaysaintpoetry

• Contact me at merrijane.rice@gmail.com