Easter Silence

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

I wonder if when

Jesus sat up in the tomb

On the third day, he was

Pulled suddenly alive

By a catching breath—

A breath surprising even

Unto himself?

Did he sit for little

Eternities listening to

Silence—or had

Silence scattered at the sound

Of the waiting angels

Opening their wings?

Whatever happened

To the sand his feet touched

As he stood?  Is the dust

Still in the mouth

Of the cave?

Did the little rocks and pebbles

That trailed behind the hem

Of his robe dragging over

The ground, one day become

Mountains?

For all I know, the tomb

Was always empty—ever not

Gestating a dead man.

Perhaps neither it nor he ever

Existed—which seems most likely given

Today.  This Easter silence

Finds us isolating in different parts

Of one, great cave—

Behind make-shift masks

Afraid to ever breathe

Again.