Aprils

by Mary Lynn Bahr

He came, green

from April fields, smiling

at the complaints of new ewes.

He loved lambing. To lose

even one—

He breathed in

sharp fusion of spirit and element

making blood and bone the instrument

of Intelligence. Immanuel,

born while stars shouted through the veil

Hosannas over April fields.

He lived mild,

seeing seeds and sparrows fall,

learning lambs and fish and all

the allegory of a vineyard.

He saw the swelling grapes,

raw bottles, and the winepress

brimming crimson. He read the prophecies—

and every Passover feast

ate bitter herbs

and flawless lamb.

He cried out,

the closed veil wrenching the shout

no scourging could tear from him. He

bled alone between writhing olive trees,

distilling drop by drop the poison

from each contaminated man,

aching the consummate

submission of atonement.

He rose, lifting

white hands to heal, restoring

perfect unity to bodies and souls,

sons and fathers. Angels

herald the refreshing times:

a flood of light.

He comes in clouds, white

to victory and wedding

coronation: the King

of peace.

Art by Amy Greaves

Photo by Angie Teames

Photo by Jess Morgan