On Friday night
creation howled
as sorrow's needles snagged the earth's loose woven cloth,
and pulled its sinew threads together
tight against the pain.
On Friday night
the world, round mouthed with horror, echoed
wood to nails, rope to stone
"life killed
love lost ;
fire quenched
hope disappointed."
And our God was silent
as the lights went out.
On Saturday
we listened, hearing noises in the darkness.
But it was nothing.
Just the rattling of our fears.
But on Sunday, though we'd stopped our ears,
a wondering whisper crept beneath the door,
tossed on the gleeful winds.
"A strange man
newly come to town
found loitering,
by the roadsides,
in the graveyard,
half known in the firelight
spinning stories."
And hearth to hearth told small, domestic tales of resurrection.
On Sunday, when we listened, and heard at last,
our Christ strolled laughing, back from Hell
with all our ransomed lives
stuffed in his knapsack.
Easter 1990
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