Burial (Holy Saturday)

Let me wrap, and wrap, and wrap this pain.
Let me bind it tightly to stop the bleeding
that is no longer. Let me anoint this agony
with frankincense and myrrh. Let me wash
the grit from the wounds so that suffering
does not soil the interment, the goodbye,
the letting go, the walking away, the end.
Do not fault me extra linens or quiet space;
there is no return to the joy that once was.
Carry on and in a while I will follow, but
for now death has my time and attention.

Lent 40 (Holy Saturday)

Let us be together
in the silence
of memories

. . .

I remember
the pleasure of his company
around a table with friends
bread crust crumbling
in our fingers

. . .

There was the day
I was sinking, overwhelmed
by the storm, but there he was —
as if catching me was
no big deal

. . .

We walked miles with him,
remember? God, how we walked!
The villages and the hills and the temples
and of course all those people all the time —
and Peter’s constant complaining, ha!

. . .

The last time I saw him
he was walking away from us
and he didn’t look back. He knew
what we couldn’t know. How I wish
that he had looked back.