Posted in Poetry, Writing

Alone in the Garden

I come to the garden, alone.

The Earth is filled with the dark, pre-dawn smell of possibility.

Expectant waiting…isn’t that what I went through with you before?

Out of the darkness and into the world,

I brought you,

At once lesser and greater than I.

The garden is pregnant with the silence of waiting.

Is it true, what they say?

I believe you will come again…but when, who can know?

A gentle wind ripples the leaves above my head

And I feel the spirits of the dead around me,

Bowing their heads as I kneel and pray to my God,

“Bring back my Lord.”

A faint glow in the East,

Is it you?

A mourning dove sings out its morning song,

Soft and low,

Telling the tale of your life

That I know so well

But cannot share—I am drowned by my tears.

The flowers in the garden are closed,

Shivering against the chill of a world

Shrouded in fear of a future of darkness.

A gentle glow spreads over the dew-kissed morning,

Spreading gold threads of sun through the trees.

A soft footstep…or did I imagine it?

A whispered word…did I hear with my ears or with my heart?

I turn around…

The Son has risen.

(4/25/2011–Easter sunrise service, Oberlin, OH)


She/her. Michigan born and raised, Nashville-loving, Seattle-dwelling. Progressive Baptist pastor. Affiliated with Alliance of Baptists and Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America~Bautistas por la Paz.

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