The Baptism
I was born slowly and immediately
wrapped in the falling leaves of the wind-
not crying aloud,
merely breathing the first few clouds
in and out,
ferocious and bound forward-
the way the stone parts pieces of sky
before it breaks through the glass.
And this, my first word, is one word
for both of you:
(anger and hope)
at the same time.
You drank it in, tasted the salt in it and then
knew how to bathe me in it’s cold ambivalent blessing
I caught you looking down from the above just
as I shuttered in your arms and you tightened
to comfort me
Suddenly this way,
you spoke
to me,
wholly,
about me: the word dripping out between tears
-a fiery honey on my forehead
and in my mouth-
causes me to rise early and fly
-my breast ablaze with spring like the robin: curling
tones and toes-on the topmost branches of this risk
called home.
