Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the
beach; but the disciples did not know that
it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children,
you have no fish, have you?” They answered him,
“No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the
right side of the boat, and you will find some.”
So they cast it, and now they were not able
to haul it in because there were so many fish.
After the monsoon, after work, I catch
you with your face in the hot laundry,
the syntax of spring held together by sap,
hanging wild and worried and crazy
in the lowest branch. In the ripe country,
salmon fold over the linens of the bay,
and I weep with you from the shore, embodied.
For still you feel the fell of dark, not day.
Nutrients, you understand, pull their weight
through current, fin, blundering up the root.
The mangos lowering at the coast, they
will sink to you.
O swooning hands, o crooked scales.
Let this warm net, this handful, be your veil.
Ariana DeNardo is Donor Services Assistant for Sojourners.