Ha-Ye'or, great river, before thee I bend in deep mud to bundle my son in this bed. Take thee, this child from my arms to thine This basket the corpus; your current the wine. Ha-Ye'or, great river, take him from my breast and carry him gently, far from the oppressed— —my people, whose Lord has abandoned their pain But not him, not my son, keep him unrestrained. Ha-Ye'or, great river, now cradle my boy His breath is my sustenance; his survival my joy. I lay him at your mercy and humbly entreat That you ask other waters to part 'neath his feet.
Brynn StClair is a poet and musicologist currently living in Arlington, VA, where she enjoys the museums, walkable cities, and view of the Washington Monument from her street but does not enjoy the exorbitant rent prices. Brynn works full-time managing a company that curates music programs for schools and part-time writing poetry cycle commissions and passion projects of her own.
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