I thought
Is there redemption after the vigil?
The cathedral buzzes with an overflow
of alleluias and anticipation.
When Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb
in the dark, she remembers Christ told them
He would rise. Like the apostles, our throng
is not overwhelmed, just foggy at the news
of an empty tomb. Peter’s bravado
has turned to confusion. He cannot see
with the eyes of faith. No bright brass quartet,
rolling tympani, soprano singing
her redeemer lives, or organ postlude
can lead the sons and daughters to believe
in what lies beyond the yellow tulips
and white lilies sitting on the altar.
Threat of a storm
Leaves on the trees
move up and down.
Thunder rolls in the distance.
Clouds in the sky
move like a flooding stream.
Thunder resounds nearer, a bad dream
returning, memories that I try
to suppress, burning the trance
unsuccessfully of my house blown down
on top of me, then lifted like maple leaves.
Yearning to write poetry,
my feelings intensify, turning my mind
round and around, funnel like
while the leaves on the trees
move up and down.
Cold a cloud, white uprising over town,
relieves
my miserable state of mind
just like
the poetry
of the raven haired beauty’s wave to me
before she gets into her white Chevrolet SUV
and drives slowly on the street in front of me.
Leaves on the trees
cease their up and down.
Pride was always the day before
Father’s Day.
The long drive home to my apartment
late at night,
trying not to stop for gas
or anything else
with my Tinkerbell t-shirt
and my painted nails,
no longer in safe territory.
Taking off my nail polish
for the next day.
Snipping off the paper bracelet.
Waking up early for church
with my family.
It always seemed cruel.
Some type of hangover of the soul.
Being dragged so quickly from the mountaintop
down to the valley.
Being shoved underwater
after getting a few lungfuls
of precious air.
Can’t Comprehend
I don’t understand.
My mom told me that
Missy was just pushing
my buttons. How can
that be? I was wearing
an “olive green” pullover.
