Friday, March 29, 2013

After the ninth hour

Dead. That’s about it, really -
dead inside my head, dead
inside my heart as we lift the dead
weight of our friend who was more
than just our friend and take his
dead body to this raw tomb that
just happens to be waiting for him.
Was it all meant to work out
like this? What about the two
hanging, groaning, haranguing, 
praying? Praying in extremis.
Everyone does that. 

There is no feeling left
for a time like this. Only the 
raw hole where the emotion
raged and the terror flared
and burned all else to black
as the sky darkened
and the woman bustles
home and her thoughts 
turn to food and tasks
and children make their
demands that obliterate
all dialogue with self
and leave you safe
from this empty pain.

Leave the heavy weight 
of body and the weighty spice
to scent the darkness
till another day. 
Leave the dark sky
light a lamp
do not let the pictures
fill your head
the hammer blows
your inward ear
the dull thud of wood
in the hard ground.
No. It is finished.
But how, God, how
do we live now
in the world that is so changed?

©C.M.M. Good Friday ’13.

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