Easter

For 40 days of denial
I have surrounded myself with water,
riding the waves to their heights of rage
and falling into the surf,
tumbled smooth like a stone to be stacked
or a sea glass treasure to be held
secret and always close to the heart.

I was not afraid to burn here
or die of thirst,
but the steady dripping of blood
from this tired body has me worried.
The crown of thorns has slipped
to my hips as I kneel to surrender.

I pray, like Mary, for a peaceful ending
to the storm that ravages the coast of my youth,
so that I might be reborn—
gestated in my own womb
and given as sacrifice
to no one but myself.

I have been dead
in this dark cave
for so long that no one comes
looking for the ghost of me any more.

I’m grateful for the morning light
alone at the first bird songs
and I wait to hear the voice of God
or some angel to reassure me
this is not hell,
but heaven under a bank of clouds
waiting for the skies to clear
and the water to calm.