Drip



"Remember your baptism." the pastor admonished,

and everywhere water appears,

I am taken back to that sanctuary

in Avondale Estates, GA,

where I was a recipient of the healing flow;

a mere child who knew more of the words

and less of the meaning.


"Remember your baptism." the poet admonished,

and every time I hear a gush or a drip,

I'm transported to the river Jordan,

where I've never actually been;

a mere observer who knows how

the gospel writers remember it,

but not how Jesus does.


"Remember your baptism." the pastor admonished,

and the washing machine, dishwasher,

even the bathroom sink, take me back

to a time when even a splash

felt refreshing and restorative;

a naïveté of hope in a world packed with despair.


"Remember your baptism." the poet admonished,

and now I can't unsee, unhear, unfeel,

or unknow the baptismal promise,

"You are my [child], the Beloved;

with you I am well pleased." [Luke 3:22]


© 2022 Todd Jenkins

 

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