can you imagine this?

Almost weekly, for almost three years
I have walked, passed that big bowl
of water – dust settled on the surface –
unsure, uncomfortable, uncertain
of its presence I avoid
making contact of any kind

fingers to wrists to elbows
diving deep into that bowl
she looked at me but did not stop
as she embraced those words
almost weakly for almost three years
I listened, heard words spoken
near it, about it, in it hands
scooped, sloshed, splashed
frolicking spirits overcome
about that good news –
I and you
– included
in that watery deluge.

can you imagine that?

Truth: Remember?


“Remember your baptism!”
said the old man with
arthritic hands, bellowing
from the pulpit.

I sat in the pew, head skyward,
picking at the curled pages
of the bible.

“Remember your baptism!”
I stared at the dulled (muted)
stained glass Jesus
staring back at me.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I heard it last week
and the week before.

I sit in silence as he
drones on and on
and on, about what
I can’t remember.

I stand to leave; only
Mrs. Meyers notices.
She glares at me, but next week
she won’t remember.

Outside, the clouds are looming,
covering the sky.
They remember.

I get wet, the cold rain seeping
through my clothes, drenching,
soaking, saturating to the bone.
And I…
I remember.


much love. sheth.


He spoke of silently weeping
after he had climbed to the top of Mount Sinai
and witnessed the rising of the sun
quickly light up the sky
in a splash of vermilion.

He told tales of slowly wading
into the muddy, reedy waters of the Jordan
standing as He did and baptized as He was
in those hallowed waters,
though, this time for the experience.

He recalled solemnly watching
as bodies moved to and from the Western Wall,
those silent – and loud – pray-ers who offered up
their petitions to God, who
no doubt listened intently.

Once, I visited my grandmother
after a long absence, and
as we silently sat in her room,
I held her hand.

I can confidently say, this:

I was closer to God.

Love Sport

In my debut to the game,
I broke Christine’s heart in 1997.
The volley was returned by
Lisa, Jessica, and Brittany –
each breaking my heart:

I went on a run of my own:
Kristen, Melissa
Hannah, Marie.
No longer new to the sport,
I was on fire:

My heart, being broken
by Amber and Julia,
balanced out the score
and it’s all tied up:
Match point.

I think my next opponent
should be my last.
A long game that ends
in a tie, and we leave
the field together.
The score no longer kept.