Mary
The men have come and gone
leaving Mary to her futile vigil;
her feet damp from the dew,
her tongue still full of Passover’s bitterness.
She is caught in an eternity of sorrow
that filled the numbed nights
and obscured the Sabbath;
her heart and hope veiled.
Tied to that place of vacant death
with nothing to do—
no body to anoint, no linen to arrange;
she waits, forsaken, until
He calls to her—“Mary!”
1 commentPamela Olson
