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Easter Morning
Jean Nordhaus
Christ is risen,
I hear myself say, as the road
breaks out of the gorge
onto floodplains of light.
For I, too, a Jew
without faith, have risen,
from weeks of un-being,
clothed again
in garments of self.
When victims
come into the clinic
after catastrophe,
the first act
is to wash their eyes.
Last night I dreamed of you -
and when I woke,
when I believed
you were still alive.
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