Easter Morning

Jean Nordhaus

Driving through the gorge to Santa Fe

Christ is risen,

I hear myself say, as the road

breaks out of the gorge

onto floodplains of light.

For I, too, a Jew

without faith, have risen,

from weeks of un-being,

clothed again

in garments of self.

When victims

come into the clinic

after catastrophe,

the first act

is to wash their eyes.

Last night I dreamed of you -

and when I woke,

there was a rift in time

when I believed

you were still alive.