Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

by Linda McCullough Moore

The Son is baptized 
dunked, not sprinkled 
pushed water muddy 
lifted, John proficient, 
this his day job, moniker.
(Shoemaker making shoes.)
The baptizer first resisted, 
but does nothing halfway
once begun.

The Father breaks apart 
the skies. The spirit flies
white pigeon.
God will speak: beloved 

pleased well pleased 
so pleased. It does not go
without the saying.

The Spirit takes His hand. 
He walks Him 
to the wilderness.
You do not ride 
to reach temptation,
oh, but you are taken. 

Time is waiting there, 
it always starts with time; 
the devil never comes 
the first day. He waits 
till you have fasted forty days,
so often forty nights. 

The Spirit isn't going anywhere.
The Father, He is in the earthquake. 
He is in the fire, make no mistake;
ask anyone who saw his only Son 
be crucified. Elijah saw in part. Now 
we see in Trinity, we see in three. 
The devil thought he might catch 
Jesus on his own. You think that 
when you work alone, but Three's 
a whole, entirely different number.

Especially when it's One.

Linda McCullough Moore is the author of two story collections, a novel, an essay collection and more than 350 shorter published works. She is the winner of the Pushcart Prize, as well as winner and finalist for numerous national awards. Her first story collection was endorsed by Alice Munro, and equally as joyous, she frequently hears from readers who write to say her work makes a difference in their lives. For many years she has mentored award-winning writers of fiction, poetry, and memoir. She is currently completing a novel, Time Out of Mind, and a collection of her poetry.

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