The grave is dug but not yet filled.
We do not bury during Holy week
so days pile up like unsaid Masses
and we invent traditions to pass the time.
We do not bury during Holy week,
even on days when Christ remains,
and we invent traditions to pass the time
until the Lord opens His earth to us.
Even on days when Christ remains
we pray for what this life will lack
until the Lord opens His earth to us.
Good Friday comes. In a silent church,
we pray for what this life now lacks
and days pile up like unsaid Masses.
Good Friday comes. Near a silent church,
your grave is dug but not yet filled
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 23, Issue 1.
David Vincenti (www.davidvincenti.com) is a father, husband, engineer, poet, and accordionist whose poems have appeared in journals including Tiferet, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and the Christian Science Monitor, and anthologies including Rabbit Ears: TV Poems and On the Verge: Poets of the Palisades III. His collections are To the Ones Who Must Be Loved and A Measure of this World: Galileo’s Dialog with the Universe. See all items about David Vincenti
