You have to return to the tomb

to experience resurrection. 

Return to the place where once

you knew without doubt

all hope was gone, the last

dying gasp of breath expelled.

Then silence, stillness

and the great tearing open

of sky and earth. 

The first sign of spring

is the revelation of all

that’s died.  Snow’s clean

slate hides decay,

but when the sun’s warmth rises

its first disclosure is the depth

of loss – the grass,

brown and trampled, barren

broken limbs scattered, earth

exposed and the empty stretch

of field filled with brown stalks

of decomposition.

This is the time of waiting,

the time in which we grow

weary and lose heart. 

You have to watch the barren

earth, pull back brown leaves,

lean close scanning the hidden

places.  You have to stand beside

the stone, Martha would tell us,

your trembling hand pressed against       

its cold, hard surface.  You have to enter

the dark cave, Peter whispers, not knowing

what you’ll find. 

You have to sit through the long,

dark night to see the first light of morning,        

to feel the sharp intake of breath

as the sky’s closed eye, cold and gray,

cracks open slowly, then with growing

determination.  This is what you must do

to experience resurrection.