Where I am Abram

by Hannah Riddle

When I left God
it was as if
from a dream
I had heaved up
to see myself

climbing the mountain pass
to where anything I loved
(even my own unflinching
self) might be tied
to rock waiting.

Woken on the crag, I reeled
against the sky at my side,
the knife a shining
smile in my hand
nearly nicking me.

“Wait!” God said giggling.
Then cleared his voice
to thunder as I turned
back down and waved
my little blade.

HANNAH RIDDLE is a gay poet from North Carolina. She currently lives in Minneapolis and is pursuing her MFA at the University of Minnesota. Her work has appeared in Inch and The Queer South (Sibling Rivalry Press, 2014).