I follow the rank corpse, holding my breath,
prepared to bury my son forevermore;
a widow left with nothing, nothing but death,
who prays, but doesn’t know what she’s praying for.
Suddenly, the multitudes appear
following the Rabbi at Niam’s Gate,
who meets my eyes and whispers, “Have no fear.”
The funeral procession stops. I wait.
He turns to sees the corpse of my dead son,
then calls out loud, “I say to thee, arise.”
My son sits on his bier, his death undone,
the flash of heaven gleaming in his eyes.
Then, watching Jesus leave, though shocked and numb,
I know that He’s “the one who is to come.”
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
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