Surely I betrayed her at least three times:
eighteen months of bone-grinding hip pain,
a list of life stories never recorded, and
leaving her exposed to suffering because
I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was so hard to die.
The cock’s crow was just basic kidney physiology,
and like the denying disciple on the porch,
I want another version of myself —
one more hour to come to her aid.
But the stone is laid across the tomb.
_______
Two years later, in a rock-walled chapel,
Reverend Blackmon speaks the words of the morning garden:
“Go tell his disciples, especially Peter,
that he is going ahead of you into Galilee.”
The preacher adds the emphasis:
He is telling Peter: Your witness is still wanted.
And somehow, I am the one who feels forgiven,
remembering the suspended stillness of the end:
Don’t stay here among the dead. Go.
Go to the place where you can see the promises of God revealed.
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