“Good Friday”

It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour,  while the sun’s light failed (Luke 23:44-46).

Walking near tall timber

pear blossoms and lamb’s ear

I am drawn 

to distant fruit tree

blossoming

a few fields over,

pink and fancy—

Below stands a white horse

as if an impressionist

had staged subjects

for painting—

Yet the air’s surreal—

neither movement of wind

nor horse panting.

It’s 3pm

and something’s not right—

the willow and cherry

are weeping.

Kerri McCaffrey, 2017

“Holy Saturday, 2018“

Sadie the St. Bernard

is all senses in the meadow,

snorting, snuffling, wet nose

twitching

with lavish aromas. 

And I’m lost

in pretty firs

all a’scent with sap,

fresh smell of springtide—

red pines remind me of board lumber

in my father’s workshop.

I’m not sure what Sadie’s looking for now,

nosing up dark sod…

Maybe she knows it’s Holy Saturday

—perhaps

we both look for God…

Easter Morning—

“In Mary Magdalene’s Words”

I am lost.

Hope builds no home here–

I’m on the ground—my face in dirt

for at least the comfort of Earth,

but even it quakes.

His tomb is cold and deep—

Oh, how I weep. I weep.

My body quivers and shakes.

Spices perfume the air

—scents sprinkled by Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea

mix with flowers: Jasmine, blood lily and acacia.

If I die here now

and follow my Lord who is Love

they will call me weak—

Saccharine words, “Ah, poor dove.”

I surmise He is lost—

Still, will I rise and rest in the tomb,

though be it black and bleak

and full

of questionable angels.

Can I tell you? Once,

He actually made me believe that I

was luminary…

Last thoughts are readied

as if I am in some ether,

but I turn to hear the first word

of Easter—

“Mary!”