Poem!:
An archaic version of me stands in a river,
Clothes following the flows and undulations of the water
I stand to wash away my sins
My bones are dry from exposure and expulsion,
My hands wet with blood and cracked from calluses
I hold my baby daughter in my arms
I lower her beneath the surface and she kicks
And squirms and screams
I beg her to relax and wait until she calms
I am filled with relief as I cradle her in my arms again
Her body is chilled by the freezing water so I hold her closer to my warmth
She will be holy again
I believe I have done something good
