This Year’s
Resurrection
We
lie in this present darkness
in tombs of our own making
praying against the
white noise of our routines
can
these bones live?
A rooster crows and we surrender
to the safety of our own silence.
Even buried away the
stones shout back
…do
you know what I have done to you?
This
cross is not empty.
It bears many names.
This is our resurrection
absorbing into this
heart-shaped stone like snowflakes on the tongue
a
shallow beating echoing in this tomb of
Traffic Jams and Sales on Aisle 5
and Breaking News
leave the dead to bury their own
There is no living in this valley
of shadows.
These
stones crumble and from dust life returns.
These hands and feet,
these lips and ears, are not our own.
In the brokenness of bodies and
dreams
We
Remember.
to whom we belong.
Squinting our eyes we follow
a familiar faint song over sunken walls and mended bridges
What
life awaits a modern day Lazarus?
