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.