This mourning broke me.
Reality pierced my soul,
Left a gaping hole, with fears
No tears can fill.
His eyes haunted me,
As I already strained to recall
The implausible love I saw in them
Before the cross.
I longed to once again see myself –
Me as he saw me –
The me he presented to others –
Instead of the wretch I see in me.
In darkness of mood and day,
I made my way to his tomb.
My heart and breath halted
As my eyes assaulted my senses.
He was gone.
I was even robbed of his lifeless body?
The cruelty of this was agonizing
And my wounds grew deeper still.
I wept harder and longer and deeper
Than I ever have before –
Not even at the cross, for I was too traumatized
I saw men? Angels? Someone – something – angels
At the head and foot where he had lain.
They asked me why I was weeping.
How could I explain such pain?
I turned and saw a man – the gardener?
He asked me the same question the angels had.
“Woman, why are you weeping?”
Once my closed throat allowed me to speak,
I begged of him, “PLEASE sir, where have you put him?”
Light rose from darkness,
Spoke my name,
And I will never be the same.
©Marie Elena Good
Gospel of John, Chapter 20
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