Three Poems from Holy Week
Good Friday The world darkens as the burgeoning clouds cover the sky First it thunders, then comes the rain The fire of sustenance begins to suffocate Till no flame remains No red embers, only black coals Leaving behind dampened brush And a sliver of smoke — Holy Saturday — Easter Morning — The gust blew in heavy Stirring her awake To a stomach empty, in pain. Eyes cracked open with the dawn To the orange sky reminiscent of the flame She breathed in the air; Missing the smell of burning wood, Imagining it was still there. She made her pilgrimage through the brush, Between the climbing trees. There, against a hope she didn’t think possible, The fire sat ablaze — But there was no smoke. She grinned and walked the way she came.