The cross had come
the body which so confronted everything
was hidden away
and we spent the day after wondering what to do.
I pottered about
that there would be people there at dawn on Easter Day.
My barrow full of fire
was ready to go.
twigs and sticks
rich scented bark
and gum leaves
to give the idea of incense.
It was as brittle and as dry as hell.
So, when I came
Easter Candle in hand.
Vestments that would have camouflaged me in a forest,
it was not there
it had risen.
In the morning's dark
I peered and could not see.
Someone had tidied me up
they had taken away my barrow
and I did not know where they had lain it.
Then, trusting to thought,
(I knew that wheelbarrows do not ascend)
I spied it
It did not quite speak my name
But my name was spoken many times
this and every day
And continues to be so.
Someone, thinking they were doing me a turn,
did not want me to deal with the mess of Christ's death.
When, in reality, that is just what I needed.