Three Holy Week Poems

FRIDAY Blood throbbing like muffled drums Tendons stretching like fence-wires: tune-taut But soundless His reproach streaks the silence like Lightning in darkness. Two eyes, raging from the sandstorms of a Thousand tears, finally close. The body hangs limp as wet drapery on a limb. Joseph and Nicodemus (John 19:38-39) What a disheveled heap This bled-out bone bag makes Crusted with spit and sweat Entrusted with threats to the two of us The workman’s wiry muscles, now slack Are pitiful as they break through the flayed skin But the blood – it is all gone, tired of flowing Clotted and forgotten at the dirt footer of The flogging pole And of course That cross We avert from each other But we cannot stop our own tears Squeezed out between our eyelids That...