it is finished. what’s
the use of words now, Jesus?
silently, tears fall.
All articles filed in Good Friday
thorn
in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill
good friday
today the warmth returned
and the blond-haired boys were
running wild through beds
of brittle hydrangea
and barren rose canes
when the littlest
still unsteady on his feet
caught his teddybear bib on a thorn
the God who died
maybe we cannot face what
we made God become