Maundy Thursday

Daily dust over the jagged


stair steps of toes, between the cracked


skin; heels bruised by heat,


small toes stoned by cobblestone.

The wrong one is kneeling,


sprinkling water over the wounded,


a stream of fingers cleaning disciples’ feet


as boils and blisters burst with new


covenant balm of blood and bread.

Good Friday

Holes as oval as this


lopsided earth, the black skin


of space filling in with red


against the spike that fastens


tendon to tree, bone to board,


skin and sin to sacrifice and servant.

In the human/divine pores: pain,


prophecy, the prodigal and unrepentant.


Their sounds pound the galaxies;


nowhere to walk or run


but Thy will be done.

Holy Saturday

Now unnailed,


calluses washed clean


with the converted Centurion’s crying,


arch and ankle wrapped


for the new tomb hewn


from a rich man’s cave,


the Savior-slave rots,

descends to the depths


of paradox, cleanses


each brimstone foot


of the dead and damned.

Easter Sunday

Alive,


he has abandoned the sepulchre.


Clover between his toes,


he hoes the graveyard garden


waits for the women


to come with scents and spices.

The unrecognized one,


afterwards he watches them run,


hysterically hollering hallelujah!

Articles by Marjorie Maddox

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