By Henry Ahrabi

“…O ye of little faith…” – Matthew 6:30  

It all was easy enough to remember: a world of blood 
in the water, the infestation of small things, and the cloudy shape 
that none of us have forgotten with folded wings. 
Cloud and fire, rock and water, heaven’s bread, 
but the sea closed back, and so did our stony hearts, 
hardening to distrust, and to action.  

It all was easy enough to remember: how our prophet
broke the stones when we were thirsting, but
the spring of tears we poured upon the sand  
provoked no answer. Was it too much to ask
for our God to speak with us? So that night while fire
ringed the mountain, keeping us below, we turned
from the stone to the gold, gave shape to desperate hope, 
and worshiped.  

It all was easy enough to remember, but desperation 
has a way of ending waiting. God lounged above the clouds, 
conversing of foods his people could not eat
while we died, thirsting. We had to bring him to us.
How could we trust salvation,
the promise of the god that left us here?

Henry Ahrabi received the 2025 Ambler Literary Prize for this poem.