Air, Hope, Love and Magdala

Sad breath of April, and hot noon, when at 3 PM, a cross stands in Golgotha


Whipped and lashed scars bleed, there is flesh and skin

Now here today, what has changed?

When you still mo ck and strut your wicked wicked ways

I saw they were too proud to do the parade, they thought was mardi gras – and so before the holy Wednesday – the party and blast of dancing in the streets

Across time, waved leaves on air – the breath of noon still hot and waiting

So incomplete and insincere – like the dust on my forehead

Not solemn and free – unlike the kites

The highways are empty and gleaming hot, april heat blows air

Until Sunday – at dawn in babys crying I awake leaping in joy

Going to the tomb –

The altar is a tomb where all the deads rise and pray here

Moments of solitude all creatures work until eternity

He is risen. And so Like Magdala – I anointed perfume

Feet, thighs,loins, body, his face and hair

They’re cold but the daze in his eyes gets warm in my heart

The air has changed – it is foggy yellow and cool white ice

The baby smiles, the son cradles the baby, and I – a mother of the air, pours all the perfume in the wood, on him – so all will awake from slumber

Salvation is here, from the cross, and the rising Christ!



Dawn. For the Risen Christ.  Remembering St. Magdalene.2012.RoseVoc2

/Iwrotefiction
/first published on Poemhunter.com



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