Words of Morning

This night is the most mysterious to me:
Saturday, the night between.
Yesterday, crufixion.
Tomorrow, resurrection.
but what of tonight?

Some say that on this night
the meek man who would not claim
to be God, would not claim to be
King, was busy breaking down
the gates of Hell, almost by accident–
so holy they could not hold him,
he liberated all souls,
and Hades, empty, was the first
to know–even before the women–
that something beyond death
was happening here.

Ever since childhood, I’ve had
trouble sleeping on this night
afraid the sun might forget to rise,
afraid the stone, immobile, would
refuse to roll, afraid
that when they arrive
the absent angel will not appear
will never say the words
we long to hear,
the words that mark birth
and rebirth,
the words of morning:

“Be not afraid.”

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