Three Poems from Holy Week

Photo by Rui Silva sj on Unsplash

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.