Easter poem

The cross had come

and gone

the body which so confronted everything

was hidden away

and we spent the day after wondering what to do.

I pottered about

vainly imagining

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.

Easter 2010