3 Poems for Holy Week

Golden oil in 
rounded vessel

liquid light
refracting sun in shimmers.

Mirrored shape 
reflects on glassy surface

and I wonder at the
drop, drop, drops

of light as they
drip, drip, drip
down.

All this tasting
joyfulness because
something was crushed
and pressed,
leaving light.

True Wood

Pears thunk and plop on
       barren, yellow grass
alone, not-gathered.
The tree bore fruit
but there is no one
to eat of it.
is it still a tree?
Upraised branches,
so much verdant waterspray
towards the sky,
still and soft against
the blue–
but no one to see.
is it still a tree?
Oaken limbs, worn with carrying
children to and fro, pumping,
playing, jumping, but no one
to hear the joy in the swing.
is it still a tree?
Carpenter fashions these
woodly beams, rough-hewn
splinter-worthy, dangerous
to the flesh, carried for
miles to the top of a hill;
everyone sees-
It was a tree.

Recipe for Awakening

Stir together singular, disparate

syllables. Salt tears. Dry yeast.

Mix with water (no blood yet)

but sweat. And all those tears.

Beat, not with a spoon—convex

form no match for the fear held

in its hand—but carefully stir

the sifted self, Savior, kneaded

on a board until dough pulls away.

Cover loosely with cloth,

place in a battered space

until deliverance is complete.

Let rise.

Form into one life,

resurrected.

Thursday in the Garden of Gethsemane (from the Hebrew meaning ‘oil press’).
Friday on the cross. Sunday in the world.
The gospel lives in Holy Week.

The three poems above are from my 2021 book, “Hearts on Pilgrimage:Poems & Prayers.” You can find it via the ‘Books’ tab or at your favorite bookseller.