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.