Hunger

In the Christian version of the story,

Ishmael lies limp on the ground,

Hagar, mother of the hungry, beginning to rise up,

one arm flailing, stricken.

She does not even see the necessary angel,

coming to reveal the hidden spring’s location.

Unlearn the passage of time.

Unlearn the snatches of music.

The wind which followed you to this place.

In the Muslim version, she knows Ishmael is dying,

but doesn’t wait to find out what happens next.

Like Abraham with the sacrificial knife in his hand,

she does not expect rescue from the sky.

She would never expect the earth beneath the boy would crack,

a spring would bubble up there, water filling his mouth.

Alone in the desert, between two mountains, she’s gone

before his heels begin hammering the rock in the spasm of death—