Sunday, March 27, 2016

holy week

palm sunday 

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.
i should love myself first.

after dinner,
we sat in silence.
stunned, even.
that it should be so.

good friday 

everything shook. 
you may or may not have felt that.

silent saturday


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


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.