August 16, 2024Baptized
When he eased me into the river
I was supposed to feel God coming clean in me
but all I could see was the black kitten, scrawny
when its mama went off and left it, flies
in its eyes, and daddy saying the best thing to do
was put it out of its misery, so I named it
Mercy, while he held it under water—his hand
a stone, so big I couldn’t see its struggle,
but could feel it, same way I always feel
the wounded or afraid—soon as I walk in a room,
we’re family—flight of swallows, storm
of fish, bubbles rising from their mouths,
a stream in the water, the kitten’s last breath,
and mine, as he pulls me up—his hand, a hook
between my shoulder blades, and he calls me
by my baptized name, but the drowning in my blood
has already named me something else.
from #84 – The Ghazal