Two Funerals, Then Easter

a poem

Two Funerals, Then Easter

Two funerals during Holy Week,
as if he hasn’t thought of death
enough. Last Sunday
would have been
his mother’s birthday
but she died at forty-three.
Spring is when his wife died
at thirty, and lent lasts
for so long in this house that
we have to tackle each other
in hallways and our living room,
like children playing, inviting life
into bodies that have seen
too much death, forcing gloom
to surrender to joy. We have turned
laughter into legitimate therapy, which is all
our survival guide would say:
“Find someone who cracks you up.
You’re gonna’ need it.”

Two funerals, then Easter
when he will remind the congregation:

He is risen.

When it’s sunny, we open the front door
to watch what is growing, what is green,
what is true despite true sorrow,
and we talk about Resurrection a lot,
like a dear long-distance friend
who we know still loves us
despite the distance.

He is risen indeed.

And the pastor who has suffered
passes around the broken bread
of his body and heart to
a Body who needs pain recognized.

He is the gift no one prays for
because that would be cruel, but really
we are so thankful
to have you.

from my collection, “Two Funerals, Then Easter.”

Cover image by Artsy Vibes.