Harvey S. Mozolak
early morning wet stones
can be slippery
night vines grow across
the paths to trip us
kick against a hidden rock
and serpents and scorpions
stir to sting
the light is limited at dawn
it may hide or mask
lepers thieves drunkards beggars
what we think we see
there may be guards
soldiers if they slumber
and we awaken them
suddenly in their startling
might fling a spear at us
if there is a seal
and we break it to enter
will the authorities hunt to hurt us?
what will greet us
at the grinding gate of death?
“who will roll away the rock?”
questions curl around the women
as tightly their clenched and cinctured
dresses shawls and cloaks
baskets heavy on their arms
filled with preparations for death
their shuffling pace slows
there coming close the silent sepulcher
entombing the loss of love
and their once divine devotion
as they went
the sky began to seize the earth
and turn and twist
seething upside-down
their steps loosened
as in waves of unseen water
a tide pulling time and place
loosens rocks and reels trees
cracks form and vise
a hillside tumbles and a nearby foundation folds
they stumbled fell and cried out
until the ground was still
before them
the Lord’s angel had descended
from heaven like a meteor striking
piercing the mounded metal helmet of death
ringing like a bell in hell
announcing the freedom and victory
of wood splayed flesh and holiness
over fang and roaring lie
the women saw the soldiers waver
shake like limbs in a fierce storm
then were fallen trees
struck down by lightning
that remained aglow
fiery as the gown of the rising sun
robed clean like new fallen snow
come see
the emptiness of fear
the void after violence
the deep vacancy now in death itself
go quickly
tell his disciples
“he has been raised”
this is God’s message
“you will see me”
“suddenly Jesus met them”
falling at his feet
they anointed him with worship
in his quiet and healing presence
the earth is pieced together again
held by his sealed scars
and the whole instability
brought by his resurrection
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