Belated Reflection on Good Friday

When the snow melts, the grass is brown. The street is covered in five months of filth. The salt and sand leave a white crust on the concrete, and I shiver as the cold north wind digs in with her claws, a final grasp of desperation.

The sun is hot--not hiding on the horizon, he's overhead now, and my car smells like all the things stuck to the floor mats, thawing and turning. Where did that banana peel come from?

All those weeds growing through the cracks in my patio brick are still there, brown and dead, but without the crisp dryness of autumn heat. Damp and wilting, they mock me. Things will be growing, soon enough; not all growth is welcome.

Resurrection? Resurrection isn't the reversal of death, it's merely the prolonging of a state of decay. Lazarus was in the tomb three days; how must he have smelled? Did the stench of the grave ever leave him? Was he haunted by it? Pursued in his dreams by the reaper whose chains had been broken, then forged anew and made ready for the inevitable?

Springtime doesn't begin with birth. Springtime begins with dead winter's corpse exhumed and laid on the table.
Decay is exposed. Rot is cut away.
Springtime begins with pruning.


mle said...

Not that this isn't beautiful, but your thoughts on spring are a trifle worrisome. How about "Hooray! Spring! Hooray for flowers and green trees and longer days and birdsong and the promise of wonderful things to come!" Just a thought...?

Jack said...

1) is there anything beautiful about Good Friday? I didn't intend for this to be a beautiful reflection. It's supposed to be dark and morose.
2) That sounds great for an Easter poem; I've got another belated reflection planned, but it's exam week...

(Also: maybe it's easier to like spring in a place where you don't dump salt and sand all over the road five month of the year.)

mle said...

I guess it's okay just as long as it's special for Good Friday. You are right that spring is better in some places than others (although we miss out on some of the excitement here in perpetual-spring-land).

What you are absolutely wrong about is timing. Doesn't everybody know that exam week is THE ABSOLUTE BEST TIME to write poems? ;)

naomi said...

Sometimes I wish spring would never come, that it would always be winter. Nevertheless it usually ends up being my favourite season. Perhaps it is in the same way that the victory of Easter Sunday would be nothing without Good Fri, therefore making Good Friday one of my favourite days of the year in a sort of morbid way. Thanks for the insight!