April 17, 1971 – Epitaphio – Cambridge, Massachusetts
Deep blue robes with dark folds,
Dark black hair – curling round his neck.
Penetrating blue eyes – absorbing all,
Alone – the only person in focus
As all the masses fade out in a blur.
The heavy Christ-tomb on his broad back,
His hunched shoulders bearing His burden,
The others hardly grasping on, as
He leads them forward-progressing onward.
The ceremony, gold-robes-candles glowing-
Ornaments – incense-jewels-chanting-
Stepping off the curb, with nine young girls
Trucks screeched by – as I held on to
Three crying, frightened children-
Girls in white-angels-pure and mild and lonely
My candle out-and up to look and see with
Tears in my eyes his shoulders
Bearing the entire tomb of Christ, as
It tipped- and surely Christ held on
With one gentle nudge – as the masses
Swelled and children cried and the
Engines roared —unnoticed he balanced
The tomb – directed the youth and
The ceremonies continued with the chanting
Of the dignitaries; the bishop and priest –
How everyone repeats them –
He does — I do, too, for Him.