The Quiet Day

Courtesy LDS Media Library

The bewildering quiet
brought unfathomed grief.

Pilate, in a chamber alone,
hands in loose tunic pockets,
mulled his wife’s day-old dream
as stale wine.

Exhausted by treason,
he granting a watch
with absent eyes.

Then the Arimthean, silenced by
duplicitous council,
despised the Death he could not stop,
and plotted benevolent revenge.

Mary, raging against her own blind instinct,
denied the Master’s
sudden disappearance

While two angels,
on the outskirts of reason,
waited for the sun to rise.

Michael James Fitzgerald

Rabboni

The Sun rose, brilliantly
and unforgettably wise.

She yearned to
mislay indelible
desolations,

While iron hands
clutched scents of
impossible reverence,

The reliquary’s shining
witnesses requited
by tear-drained eyes.

How she turned from them!

“Where is He?” she
demanded of a lowly
Gardener,

barely a shred of
her former self
in evidence.

“Mary,” He said, the
only word the moment
could demand,

The first word on
the first day of a
recalculated infinity.

Michael James Fitzgerald

See John 20:11–18.