Kathleen Henderson Staudt (Kathy) ’75 works as a teacher, poet and spiritual director at the University of Maryland, College Park, Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria and Wesley Seminary in Washington, DC. Drawing on her doctoral training in Comparative Literature (Yale Ph.D, 1980), her classes focus on writing, poetry, spirituality, religion and interdisciplinary studies. She is the author of At the Turn of a Civilization: David Jones and Modern Poetics (1994) and Annunciations: Poems out of Scripture (2003). She has lived in Silver Spring, Maryland since 1988 with her husband Lou and their growing (now grown) children, David and Sarah.
Her blog is at www.poetproph.blogspot.com
I remember the summer your body first began to stretch.
We went, just you and I, to a salt pond by the seashore.
You loved it because it was broad and shallow
And you could wade out into it, and leave me behind.
I sat on the shore and watched you,
The growing body in blue stripes.
With every few steps, you would turn to wave
And see me waving back.
The water gets deeper. You stretch out taller,
Swim forward, dive under, look back less.
But my part doesn’t change: I watch from the beach.
And when you turn to check, I am still here
Ready to wave back.