A hush. A fanfare. It begins As loved ones huddle close To the marble hearth. My grandmother’s eye streams Bitter cold, she says. So is my granda’s Gravestone – glinting charcoal, that rises Through a sea of green. An archipelago Of poinsettias. Words resonate Off each little island, every city state With its own legislature. Have you doused That water on it yet? Have those roses Seen the end of their days? Quiet, now First glorious mystery: the resurrection Of our Lord Jesus Christ. We power on Standing firm. Forgiveness. Compassion. Trust; the chant becomes louder Closer, closer, we cry. I can see Pilate now Washing his hands. Closer, closer – even louder They need to make it through. It all depends on us To light the way. Where are we? Third? Fourth? Or even further? The beads shimmer as the frenzy Grows, a pitch higher. Grant it, Lord Through your mercy, and yours alone: Bells toll and toll again, seeking the way It’s time. Anytime now. With just a little push – Silence. It is finished. A collective sigh Done for another year. Did all we could To save those souls; they’ll make it this time around I’m sure of it. The crowd swells, swiveling the map Of the yard, inspecting the atlas to no end. We don’t stay long. Granny’s cold. She’s satisfied She’s stood for pretty long.
My mate says we sleep till the time; I hope he’s right I’d rather they rest than run, stay out of sight.