a poem for lent (for d. w.)

i was raised on stained glass images,

quiet ceremonies, and

pristine baptismal pools,

but no window

ever told me the story

of how you waded willingly

into a muddy river

teeming with humanity or

how deeply you plunged in

to search the churning waters

i drowned in long ago

how strange then to

know myself now

as one heaved ashore

sopping wet and

weak as a newborn

hearing my name

spoken aloud

for the very first time

-stacy wills (4/11/2011)