Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Not I, but Christ in me

I'm ceded—I've stopped being Theirs— 
The name They dropped upon my face 
With water, in the country church 
Is finished using, now, 
And They can put it with my Dolls, 
My childhood, and the string of spools, 
I've finished threading—too— 

Baptized, before, without the choice, 
But this time, consciously, of Grace— 
Unto supremest name— 
Called to my Full—The Crescent dropped— 
Existence's whole Arc, filled up, 
With one small Diadem. 

My second Rank—too small the first— 
Crowned—Crowing—on my Father's breast— 
A half unconscious Queen— 
But this time—Adequate—Erect, 
With Will to choose, or to reject, 
And I choose, just a Crown—

Emily Dickinson

No comments:

Post a Comment