Mary
Magdalene’s Discovery
Every bird
in a scarf was a heart
set on fire
and leaping from his
hand when
he revealed my face,
seeing him
dream through the
better part
of me by reaching
through
hazy days and humid
nights,
touching me with tender
moments
weaving in and out of
our day
like yarn. In the end,
every drop
of rain was enough
to put out
the eyes, put out the
careless
speech that rolled over
their
tongues in mockery.
Where did
he go? The man with
a thousand
songs brushed from
his
fingertips like ointment on
my sores,
longing to hear him
yet again
spread his good news
through the
streets of Jerusalem,
longing to
hold his gaze on me
like a
piercing sun that also takes
the fruit
and makes our sweet talk
heal the
ache of a thousand men
we have yet
to call brothers.
Where did
he go? The man who
was laid in
this tomb with dead
sorrow
making hard the rock that
was there
and in our throats, making
hard the
deliverance and yet it was
done when a
thousand birds scream
in the bush
like flames, when a
thousand
dreams delight in the
night like
stars tucked deep away
from
seeing, it was done and I
will tell
them he is risen, brushed off
the death
of a world like dust
and made
the nations breathe
life into
the heavens through him.
The man I
loved through each
season he
took on and off his
holiness
like burlap he packed
his heart
and soul and set out
like a man
who couldn’t fail.
He is
risen, Alleluia! The man
I loved
with a pink passion of skies.
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