Easter Lines for a Christ Figure
I seek for one who pierced my skyey dream;
I long for one who filled my life with themes—
one sent from clouds who graced my dusty earth,
two gleaming eyes that lit and warmed my hearth,
two cheekbones marking mood, now veiled by cloth
which covers four stilled limbs no bed can soothe.
I conjure you, though you may never come
again to glorify my space with plumes.
I dub you Queen of kings (heirs epicene)
to lift you up—to have you raised, not sown.
You fell the farthest, Fairest, ending dashed
on jagged scree; earth failed to keep you, rushed
to send your flesh and blood away unclaimed.
Oh how I’ve hoped for your return. I’ve timed
the minutes, hours, for days held loving vigil,
to see my talismanic groom—my Rigel!
You are my sweet unreachable, my soon!
I am your unrequited empty tomb.
Questions for Discussion and Notes
Posting on Good Friday of Holy Week, I wish you all a happy Easter weekend. What are your reactions to this poem? What lines stood out to you? Why? More generally, does Easter matter to you? Why or why not?
Background: the scriptural inspiration for this poem is the ending of the Gospel of Mark, which in its earliest manuscripts does not include a visitation from the risen Lord. Speaking of Mark 16:6-8 in his translation for Latter-day Saints, BYU scholar Thomas Wayment says, “The Gospel of Mark likely ended at verse 8 originally, although a number of different endings have been preserved in different manuscripts. 16:9 The manuscript sources for the longer ending of Mark are quite late and much less reliable than those that end with verse 8.” This quote is taken from the end notes in Wayment’s first edition.
The post’s title references a speech by the title character in Shakespeare’s tragedy Othello.
Image Credit: View from Kit Carson Peak in Colorado, by Fredlyfish4 on Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0
Wheat & Tares 
To say that this is wonderful would not be giving it enough credit. The pain of separation is absolutely devastating, both for the spiritual and the temporal. The greatest pain that can be felt is that pain that comes from wanted to be with someone who has traveled beyond the point of possibility.
Thank you for your beautiful poem. Today is our teen age daughters birthday, she is 17. She was born with bilateral club feet, hip dysplasia and no motor nerves below her knees. She walks, but with an arm crutch, and more like an amputee. She has developed normally (whatever that means) mentally, but life is physically harder for her than for me or many people for that matter. This past year has been incredibly difficult for her and consequently, for us. She has dealt with some debilitating depression, slowly taking her love for many things away. This Easter season, I give thanks for the dozens of people, family, friends, therapists, doctors, etc. all participating in God’s work, and by God’s work I simply mean the work of healing and wholeness, to possibly provide a resurrection to our lovely daughter. She needs saving, like so many others also, but not in the next life, right here and now. The sacrifice of Jesus is the personification of every soul who lives and gives their lives in pursuit of bettering the life of another.
I really appreciate the poetry and its meaning. Your words have a meaning and beauty that will far exceed those words that I will likely hear on Easter Sunday.
“You are my sweet unreachable, my soon!
I am your unrequited empty tomb.”
Gorgeous!
I was discussing Romeo and Juliet this morning about whether there is any resurrection in the play, since even the last scene takes place in the tomb. I said that I thought the words of the duke, “All are punished!” is the beginning of resurrection where “death, you too shall die.”
I love this! It captures so much of of the searching and the ebb and flow of how sometimes our “reaching” is reached and sometimes it is not. Thank’s for being vulnerable and sharing.
Thanks to each of you for reading and responding. Best to everyone as we continue navigating a world which presents us both bitter and sweet experiences.