Lazarus Saturday
Lazarus Saturday
W.R. Bornholdt
I
Within that stony cowl
wrapped in myrrh chains
he keeps breath at bay
sleeps beyond voices tears
heated interment his blood
planted fast mordant cement
grief shrieks
its saline rivulets immeasurable
in the convulsed sunlight
the sisters
cannot bully the stone
over his body perfect hostesses
prepare dinner for fifty
attentive ears
the stone faces inward
its ears silenced
makes its travel plans
no where slowly
II
the train to Bethany
makes all stops
the mute conductor
engaged in picking lint
off his tracks
announces with plicatured tongue
the fourteen stations
flicked pebbles bruise human backs
ninety-six hours pass by
in a glimpse and wink
it is our little secret
when the snail moves
it is always too late
stubbed toes broken shells
the usual demoniacs
(filled to hell’s brim)
the endless queue
of broke blind limping
the carnival of Adam’s emission
without a ticket
(the kiosk is closed)
he jumps the fence
the divide between stench
and strips of olibanum
a disheveled charism disembarks
gathers his bags bearings
oriented to heaven
and the fetid waiting room
hurry, hurry
the blind can wait
a few days more
staring black
let the mourners read
the healing hands
words of warning
stoop step up
III
when he arrives
his grief irrigates the field
fists pummel the air
his knees in prayer
implores the furrowed sarcophagus
and buries the unseeing
second-guessing clock watchers
at the tomb
he opens the Father’s ears
and begins the great ride-
room for one space for all
the exit the crowd clamors
the hungry hands strip
away mourning raiment
we stand our squinting mouths
wide gamble the death clothes
set apart the winner will
launder this set prepare
another hewn stone
IV
death’s silence will come again
at the feet of a bier
dislocated timber
hinged loosely on gaping thieves
W.R. Bornholdt
Poet
Wayne is a poet and retired bookseller. He has been published in The Penwood Review, the Pace Journal, and Vita Poetica. He holds degrees in philosophy and theological studies. He resides in West Michigan with his wife and piles of unread books.
Photography by Content Pixie