This poem comes from my book Stations (Wiseblood Books).
It seems a fitting meditation for this Holy and mysterious day.
Station XIV:
Jesus is laid in his tomb
Wrapped and balmed,
anointed
we lay the chill
flesh upon the stone;
his mother now,
released, weeps
silently beside her
son
awaiting our
withdrawal.
It grows dark.
And when the stone
is moved in place
and when they all
have gone,
I feel the silence
of the unmoved earth
and press my face
against the stone.
:
Make clean my heart,
Oh Lord,
that it may be your
tomb.
Make clean my heart,
that you may find
your rest in me.
