Flannel

Are these tall leafless stems
here in a marshy overflow
bulrushes? Moses,
sweet baby, where are you?

*

In Sunday-school
our teacher depicted Bible stores
on a flannelboard, perhaps
without intending it
suggesting that what cannot
be represented visually and with flannel
does not exist. Moses exists
because in flannel he lies
in a flannel crib that sits
half hidden among
tall leafless stems of flannel
that bespeak existence. Yellow
the flannel face of Moses, white
the flannel crib, brown the many
flannel leafless stems. Blue, then,
the flannel cutout that
makes a reality of sky.

*

Something about a baby lying in a crib
half sunk in marshwater
squeezed at the heart, squeezing intensified
when the flannel form of Pharaoh
appeared on the board, off to one side
yet walking toward the rushes,
flannel baby and flannel badass
on their way to a deadly
flannel confrontation.

*

I part the tall stems
not to discover the hidden baby
but instead to select a dozen rushes
to form a bouquet
I'll place in a bottle to place on a stump
to dignify the campsite.

*

With flannel our teacher
could breathe the breath of life
into almost anything: camel, shepherd,
prodigal, wise man, Mary, sheep,
oxen, Gabriel, Jonah, samaritan, Daniel
and the lion and the lion's den.
There seemed to be no bottom
to her well of flannel. And when
she took away the scene
behold! the scene
somewhere among the bulrushes
somehow remained.

*

When eventually we circle the fire
to wait for that moment
when the coffee declares itself
finished
I can see through dancing flames
bulrushes dancing. Moses,
sweet baby, where are you? The sky
is a dark flannel sea of bright flannel
stars, beyond them
in flannel not yet cut and placed
the promise of an end to parting.