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.