Day 23: Easter Morn


Descending Theology: The Resurrection

by Mary Karr
                             From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
                             cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—
                             till the hung flesh was empty.
                             Lonely in that void even for pain,
                             he missed his splintered feet,
                             the human stare buried in his face.
                             He ached for two hands made of meat
                             he could reach to the end of.
                             In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
                             of his heart began to bang
                             on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
                             back into that battered shape. Now
                             it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
                             shatters at birth, rivering every way.

30 Days of Grace III