Day 6: DON'T...., ....

LAZARUS – Don’t hold! Release!

A fog of voices filled my house those last days.
Martha left the kitchen.
Mary paced.
And I
faded
away.

My friend
stalled,
placating disciples,
tasting roiling bile.

That was the last I knew.

It is not death,
please, it is the dying I do not want to do
again.

Finally,
a numbness
is grace.

Now, four days gone,
I am clutched back,
called out.
Wailing throttles my ears,
breathing burns,
and each and every hair on my forearm
stands, stinging
from tip to root
as they, by his command,
peel the sodden winding cloths
away.

I cannot stomach my own stench.

My friend weeps now,
tears tainting skin,
condemned by life
to death.

I wince now,
touched by exquisite pain,
condemned by life
to feel
his release.



AND

PROMPTED ON MY OWN

YOUNG'S MOUNTAIN NORTH CAROLINA WINDOW FRAME
-- APRIL 2011

Endlessly slender poplars and hickories stretch and
sway before a sky’s pale backdrop. Delicately
crowned dancers they balance leaves like
petite neon umbrellas on their fingertips,
unfolding them gradually. They spin
the sun and seize the rain
for us as the curtain
of dawn
rises.