after the end

it is finished. what’s
the use of words now, Jesus?
silently, tears fall.

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keep watch

yet to come will be the weeping;
let all mortal flesh keep silence
and keep watch.

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palms

sunday, and the children wave their palms
with excited eyes and spreading smiles.
palm branches! palm branches! they shout.

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thorn

in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill

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clean

i finally got my feet washed.
they were sore from a day
of running and standing still,
of impatience and veiled pride,
and i wondered, as i sat in the pew,
whether the one who washed them
would be able to smell the sweat
from my socks and shoes.

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palm sunday

the crowd gathers in,
eager, excited, waiting
for the arrival
of the champion.

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holy saturday

we planted the peas today
rolled their plump green bodies
into the black bacterial dust
gardeners call inoculant
and then tucked them one by one
under the soil

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maundy thursday

we’ve had a cold snap again
frost nipping the eager blooms
of the japanese magnolias
and kissing the bricks
that weight the blanket
stretched over the half-moon bed
of drowsing flowers

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