Friday, April 2, 2021

The Tomb



The Tomb

A collaborative poem by Rosemary Bailey and Eva Whittle

 

The Aramathean, rich man, secret

believer, he had a tomb carved out

of rock where no one had ever  

lain. But when the Rabbi

 

died and the day turned to night-

darkness and thunder, and death walked

among the dead wondering how some

he had held in his grip for so long

had opened their graves, Joseph

 

went to Pilate to ask for the body

and he carried that torn

and broken shell into his own

burial cave. There were enough

spices to mourn a king and here

the Son of Man finally

has a place to lay his head

 

the tomb. Rome

sealed it with a massive

boulder and guarded it night and day.

    

Sunday just before dawn

(the guards had been shaken into frightful

sleep) the angel broke the seal

of the place that death had visited

 

but death had been banished

and the still fragrant tomb

was once again only empty.


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