The River in Us and Other Poems
by Sarah Spradlin
The River in Us
did you
empty them?
all our
hand-dug
wells of hope?
so that,
thirsting we would follow
signs and wonders
into the wasteland wrestling
for water
just
for us to witness
you pour out your mighty river
over and over and over again
until it abides, alive in us:
a relentless, mane-shaking
drought-quenching torrent,
unbridled, racing over desolate lands
returning dormant seeds to wakefulness,
even buried beneath
cindered mountains
made of every funeral pyre
we have raised and burned,
your river
still runs
and runs
and runs
unburdened
underground
beneath the soles of our feet
seeking
let’s go down to the wadi
and in the rewilding, wait
for fresh and ancient waters to be reborn
out of our mouths,
may we find ourselves
rejoicing,
raising our cups running over
even in these days of thirst,
satisfied by something sweeter
than answers
to all the questions
burning within us
for this how Hope springs up,
writes and weaves tributaries
into our open veins,
unbinds itself,
abounds
in us,
and sets us
free.
Shard-Shepherd
who builds
the streets of gold
to carry the burdens
breaking us?
who catches
the pieces,
fastens and fashions
the temple, the house of God?
who binding, mortars
with steady, bleeding hands
every fragment fallen from
the potter’s wheel?
who gently tethers sentients
and names the shining face
of every creature
upon the earth?
we have seen one
gathering the scattered slivers
by starlight before the dawn —
we whisper of
the shard-shepherd
who does not rest,
who will not abandon
the kintsugi road.
When I Cannot
When I cannot,
God remembers who I am,
remembers the sound of my true name
and collects every ordinary prophecy
spoken over me by sibling sojourners
like newspaper clippings,
keeps sending them to teach me
over and over again
how to say my name
the way God does:
unafraid and undimmed,
with a sunshine smile.
When I cannot,
God remembers my story,
bears its whole weight on his shoulders
when I cannot,
gathers and loves
every scrapbooked page
we have made
until I am ready
to look myself in the eyes
again and call her by
my name.
When I cannot,
God remembers
and takes my hands in his,
gives them a good squeeze,
and tells me,
in songs and whispers,
“Nothing that has been forgotten
has been lost forever,
and I
will always
remember
you.”
Sarah Spradlin has been published on Story Embers, Kingdom Pen, and Ekstasis. She released her debut digital chapbook, Beneath the Mango Tree, in Winter 2021. You can read more of her work on her Instagram: @sarah.spradlin.