Good Friday 2024

We’ve become
hallowed vessels of mercy
lined with grace
after being hollowed out
by the swift kick of departure,

imagining the vanished
beloveds poofed into
nothingness, when nothing
could be less true.

It happens, they try to tell us,
that they live on in particles
of light, in warmth radiating
from our nearest star, in
the ka-thump of our cracked
open hearts,

in the first blossoms
making their annual debut
after a long sleep, even in
the desperate dark when
it seems that every leaf,
flower, birdsong has died.

But there they are—floppy
wisteria earnestly purpling
the trellis as bright green
tendrils begin to decorate
bare branches.

We look up at the trill of
a winged visitor, then we bend
to admire the sweet center of a
wide-open poppy, and another,
and another,

each a hallowed vessel
of mercy, lined with grace,
rimmed in light—whether
flowering or hibernating—
all that beauty ever with us,
singing, truly never gone.

•••

For the Together We Heal writers, who turn grief into artful words each month in Elk Grove, California. More information available here.