Holy Saturday waits
Like a patch of dirt in the lawn
But shoots, then buds appear
Followed by tomatoes, squash and beans.
Holy Saturday looks dull
It’s the spring in a can
Just boring coils of gray metal
For the lid to come off.
And was buried.
Nothing to do but go home
And put one heavy foot in front of the other
Because it’s Holy Saturday
And nothing’s happening.
But then Mary shows up with funeral spices
And the gardener whispers her name
And she gets the surprise of her life.
It’s Holy Saturday
Like so many days
Nothing is happening
But the joy