It’s the meaning of her name,
and I claim there is something to it,
as in days of old testament.
But multiple impediments seized her
mind
energy
sight
voice.
Her very soul.
The whole of her,
splintered.
The light of her,
wintered.
But her God is not flawed,
nor silenced.
As her spirit returns
and yearns to be,
I see her flame ignite,
and hope shines
Bright as Day.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Image credit: http://catholicinbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2013/03/meditation-on-fifth-station-of-cross.html
God’s word says little of this man: A Jew,
Pulled from the crowd to carry Jesus’ cross.
I wonder what he felt, and what he knew.
What ‘Jesus stories’ had he come across?
The Passover perhaps had drawn him there –
A dispersed Jew, returned to celebrate,
Who suddenly now had a cross to bear?
So little known. So much to speculate.
But he was there, as God had preordained,
And I can’t help but think that he was stirred,
To look into the eyes of one so maimed,
Still full of grace. God’s only Son. God’s Word.
Oh Simon, what an awe-inspiring role …
You touched the very blood that saved your soul.
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
Photo by Deanna Marie Metts
The extravagance
of the season, embodied:
God, wrapped in infant.
Photo by Deanna Marie Metts
Tell me again
how You parted
the waters
that threatened my soul
to sink.
Remind me
the healings
when reeling
from lie’s ink;
death’s brink.
Retell the hell
from which
you snatched my feet.
Unseat untruth
I tell my past.
I ask, let’s talk
of solid rock
that drenched the earth
and quenched
my thirst.
Recall for me
the blood-soaked tree –
the guarantee
you set me free
from me.
© Marie Elena Good, 2017
pictured words 