lenten journal: finished

    1
    1132

    “It is finished,” you said.

    When we finally get
    to ask questions
    you will be answer,
    mine will be, “What
    did you mean?”

    I’ve taken my shot
    at explanations;
    the words matter
    too much to let them
    just hang there.

    Yet even when I look
    back from Sunday,
    full of resurrection
    neither life nor death
    will be done.

    I dug in the dirt
    from noon till three
    pulling up the dead
    stalks of last summer’s
    tomato plants,

    among other things:
    nothing much ever
    feels finished to me.
    One day you’ll tell me
    what it feels like.

    Peace,
    Milton

    1 COMMENT

    Leave a Reply