Dee Ledger of Maryland takes us to another place.
This I know.
I’m a lousy gardener.
If I would have seen Jesus in the garden
I would have flung the trowel at him
saying, “Here, plant these your damn self.”
I am so done with grief.
How can you rise so blithely
without your friends?
Do you have any idea how guiltily Peter
gulped down his soup that night?
Martha had another of her fits
and we won’t even talk about Judas.
What the hell happened there?
You called us friends
and I believed you.
I saw the soldiers pierce you
With their cruelty
But you tore our hearts.
Plant the seeds yourself
And when the smallest of seedlings rises,
I’ll be waiting in the shade of that cave,
the one you just vacated with Elijah
picking dirt from my nails.