We nailed the hands long ago,
Wove the thorns, took up the scourge and shouted
For excitement's sake, we stood at the dusty edge
Of the pebbled path and watched the extreme of pain.
But one or two prayed, one or two
Were silent, shocked, stood back
And remembered remnants of words, a new vision,
The cross is up with its crying victim, the clouds
Cover the sun, we learn a new way to lose
What we did not know we had
Until this bleak and sacrificial day,
Until we turned from our bad
Past and knelt and cried out our dismay,
The dice still clicking, the voices dying away.
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Comments
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There is a more in this poem as pozo wrote a while back. It seems as if the historical event is a today event. This poem (to me) just masters that careful balance of freezing time and yet having it in the present. Hauntingly beautiful; wonderful conviction of the we becoming an I and Zen in its delivery of uncomplicated language. Sound is here on many levels, as is motion. Lines 9-10 are so true--the loss of something that many times we fail to fully understand until it is too late. I also admire how the voices shift within this poem, from a mob chanting/yell to the "voices dying away".
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A wonderful write by her, I feel it speaks of the crucifiction but also something else, there's something within this poem less simple than just the crucifiction: although not being able to name it may be a sign I'm wrong. She was my favourite poet, the first poet around in my lifetime to make me think.
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