this glorious day.
all that shouting.
a celebration, perhaps.
voices of dissent?
difficult to tell from a distance.
the shouts continue,
echo along walls,
through streets.
psalms of ascent?
it is Passover after all.
let me find you on the journey
from gate to hill.
let me find something to wave:
an olive branch, elder or spruce,
pussy willows.
i have no palms.
let me join you for a meal.
there’s a table waiting.
(spy wednesday)
here in our midst.
i find myself wearing the same shoes
far too often. mud and shit-spattered.
worn. weary.
you make your own plans.
they might not turn out the way you hope.
maundy thursday
at the dinner table
you made your demand.
love one another.
after dinner,
we sat in silence.
suspicious.
stunned, even.
that it should be so.
good friday
everything shook.
you may or may not have felt that.
silent saturday
wait.
easter sunday
i find myself answering,
and not answering,
and wondering
whether i am part of the problem or
part of the solution.
i should like to be part of the solution.
will you allow me that?
to be unsure?
to be wavering,
and yet unwavering?
the tomb is empty, and
where has he gone?
i reach for hope,
and find doubt
nibbling at my fingers.
i long for your voice.
let me hear your voice.
there should be more joy
after
i want to convince you,
that you should be convinced.
i should like us to be seated
together; sharing the words --
singing the same song.
