filled with golden leaves,
the pond, and shimmering with sky
and me, too dry, too dry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, baptism, communion, poem, poetry, pond on October 19, 2019| Leave a Comment »
filled with golden leaves,
the pond, and shimmering with sky
and me, too dry, too dry
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged baptism, body, poem, poetry, swimming, water on September 2, 2019| 2 Comments »
I didn’t intend to swim to the island.
Told myself it was just a quick slip
into the water. Told myself I would
rejoin the others soon. But the water
said yes to me. And my arms and legs
seemed to remember then
exactly what they were made for.
Sometimes we’re in service to something
more primal, a voice that says go, go,
keep going, though there’s no race,
no finish line, no prize, no spectators,
nothing but the thrill of becoming
the body’s bright verb. Feel how
the water buoys you, even as your weight
pulls you down, how it shimmers as far as
a woman can swim, how with each
stroke of your dripping arms,
the lake christens you again and again
a child of this very here.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged baptism, poem, poetry, self, swimming on June 22, 2018| Leave a Comment »
It’s no Walden, but it’s cool
and the day is dust hot,
and so I ask my younger self
if she wants to go swimming,
and she grabs the hand of my older self,
and drags her to the pond.
My older self was, perhaps,
more rhetorical than sincere
when she suggested the swim,
but the younger self has already
kicked off her shoes and shrugged
out of her dress. The swallows
wheel and sweep overhead
and all along the pond’s edge
the dragonflies darn through the reeds.
What is it in us that never forgets
how to jump in, no matter
how cold, no matter who’s watching,
no matter what else
we’re supposed to do?
That is the part that is already wet
and otter slick as the older part of me
stands at the edge, still dressed,
in awe of that girl, how she
glitters in the sun, how
through chattering teeth,
she laughs, how she looks
so almost familiar.