Resurrection by Mary McReynolds

Here, the death that changed our lives,
upside down and inside out.
It's no exaggeration --
we can and will lose loved ones
beyond our fears and what
we think in poor imagination.

I am poemed out,
have penned and pinned most awful grief
against a wall that will not move:
microscopic specimen studied long
in rhyme and time by those who know
and those who care,
while some grasp petty leftovers
and never even shed a tear.

The least little thing can set me off
where I now drown in petrie dish and oculi:
tides ebb and flow, no hidden pools
but angry seas pull me down
where I hear how Poe's mad bird
croaks a tongue to echo mine.

And yet my word is "evermore" --
safe in the will and mind of God:
faith a raft to heaven's shore.
Strong the tug at feet and legs
for One who wore a cross of wood:
Son of Man and Son of God
bearing wounds of staff and rod
in glorious contradiction--
three dark days to rise again.