Poetry

Megan

by Fred Cervin

“and this baptism must be by
immersion
not sprinkling only . . .”

we have been sitting so long
here on the verandah
high above the sea
watching the changing moods
of the shore or
inside looking through the enormous
windows of the great house safe
from storms and weather

the ceilings are
high as in the villas of old
Europe ornately divided into
squares by exposed beams covered with
gold leaf
the floor’s shining plane reflects
the piano’s massive grandeur
parallel lines never meet
a fireplace large enough to walk
around in
the fire is never large enough to
stroll freely through as
the Hebrew children did

in the foyer the balustrade sweeps up and
around
instead of little sticks it has long rows of
solid sealed urns what is
kept inside not for our
eyes

our Father
Lord of this manor
has decreed:
“You shall not go down,
you shall never go down.
Remain here rather in the lofty
light of the house
Let your thoughts be shaped by these
august geometries.
Treasure in your heart the perfect
tinklings of Haydn, the intricate gavotte
of Jane Austen.
The sea is forbidden you.”

once we had a visitor who told of
bathing in that all-dissolving
element in some far grotto or secret inlet
between
cliffs of
many-breasted Crete
it was an awesome tale of
one who defied the interdicts and
lived
but a terrible destructive fire burned
in his eyes and his face
leathery and tough and blasted beyond human
semblance

he cast himself as prophet in some
strange archaic play his words lodged
at nettles in my heart:
“nothing will suffice same
full immersion . . .”
I cannot forget him

there are times when the changeless days
seem to
march on endlessly his face
rises in my reverie I cannot deny I am
tempted to jump from the
porch run headlong down the path so long
unused and pitch myself into the
waves

I admit
I crave it
the cold cruel
embrace of the
sea

just end its days
like railroad cars to the
horizon

But no.
I shall not.
I shall stand in the integrity of my first love,
sheltered by the roof and lofty columns of
my Father’s house.
It will be enough to see great ocean’s
chaos all alive
from a distance.

October 15, 1995