A Holy Week Poem

glimpses of his face

upon leaving the parade
wisps of confetti and hurrahs floating in our brains
palm branches remain scattered in our minds
and one on a donkey passes by, looking,  intently – as if into our very souls

seven days our watching,  from afar or close by

perfume scents the air before a feast of delicacies spread
she has broken open her heart and the vial of treasure
for sharing silent tearful words of holy drops, his feet touched

tainted tables in the Temple crash to the floor
his voice echoing off the marble walls in defiance
of mistreatment upon those come to worship,
who is there in this company, over-priced dove in hand?

friend/companion arranges the ill-fated movement of betrayal
we ponder motive -  angst, skepticism … despair or truth

loft dinner for a chosen few;  ‘tis good to be included
what will he have new – in song or word – for us this night?
night that never ended and never will

garden dew, strangers’ grip, off and away
we watch him disappear into the courts

early morning and far too many people in the streets
choices offered between the two
who?  who?

but we have no part do we,  as he appears
tattered and torn, enduring, suffering
interrogation and courage

only the weight of that devilish cross spans
our perception of the moment, his breath in our face
his eyes once again in our gaze

seven days
to the deafening silence of death
a holy week.

 by Rev. Mary Anne Akin, April 2020​