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Holy Saturday

By Brandi Friesen Thorpe
Apr 09, 2016

Sunset in Bethlehem (Photo by Brandi Friesen Thorpe)

Holy Saturday,
The place for bleakness, twisted mourning, black.
I like this day, today,
How it holds permission to wallow and be in the dark,
To wander in the twisted depths.

Today I am low, I am in the earth, I am unbreathing
I have been buried alive by the blind of this world
They see no light, they know no justice, no right
And because I see, I live counter, they reach to stop my heart.
And because they are power, they are structure, they are control
Their reach reaches me, grasps me, suffocates me steadily

World, why do you reach for me?
World, I call to you.
World, why does my hunger for justice dissatisfy you?
World, you have reached for my heart
You have squeezed it, ceasing its beat.
My heart, for this day, stops.
There is no beat. I am in the earth.
I am buried. You have tried your best to stop me.
I am in the earth. I am paused

The world buried me in the earth,
Forgetting that I was a seed.
Forgetting that my love pumps resurrection
That I will not remain
That I exist beyond my death
While you stop my heart, you cannot stop my love
It is already poured out,
It has already bloomed,
It has fertilized the earth,
It will plant more and more and more seeds.
Though you may try to bury me, you have forgotten a critical truth:
I am a seed. I will grow.
The days of darkness are days of germination
The earth is not my tomb, it is my cradle.

Today is the day I remain in the dark, buried,
Today I greet death
Tomorrow I will rise again.
. . . .


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