John in prison
The cold stone walls, their slime, the hard floor, the rags of rags.
Way up high, a grate and sometimes a ray of sunlight
or a breath of wind. His skin red and rough and raw.
He knew there was no healing. Not this time.
He dreams first of the desert, its cold nights,
burning sand in bright day, endless thirst, no path
or too many paths, leading him blindly
to the river. He dreams of honey mixed with sand.
He dreams of their eyes or their hands
or a tentative foot toeing the water.
Some rising up from the Jordan’s wild and living water with laughter.
Some with tears. Some with wet hands gently touching him.
He dreams of his cousin’s rising up, a sound like thunder, then
the glorious stillness. Just a moment. Had he merely imagined that joy?
Nearly too late, he hears the report
of what mysteries have been seen and heard now.
Finally each night, he dreams of swimming in the Jordan,
swimming underwater for longer and longer,
each night a new baptism, as he swims with turtles and fish
to the warm light shining ahead.
Thank you for this poem. The lines that struck me most are these:
“rags of rag”
“honey mixed with sand”
“His cousin rising up, a sound of thunder” (the allusion)
” a new baptism”
“swims with turtles”