From The Tomb
From The Tomb Ages before Jerusalem was founded, I was formed for this day. God said, “Shall these sea bones live? I will sculpt me a tomb, a lime white chamber, fit for a King.” I was ready when they brought him in, bloody and broken, like a king from his last battle. Dusk was falling. They hurried; careful, so careful. They were brittle with pain. They straightened him; legs, arms, head, in the niche. Stopped my mouth with a rock and crept away.
We were quiet together. He slept inside me. I cradled him like an unborn child. Outside, earth shuddered, the sun failed, stars shot like bolts through the warring heavens. I kept him safe, till he began to stir, like the child whose time has come. The deep places of creation whispered “Open!” A mighty spasm shook the stone. I gaped. He rose. For a moment he stood, facing the dawn. Then he was gone. Later there would be angels, blazing-eyed and docile, folding linen bandages. There would be men and women, storms of grieving, suddenly stifled. But first, as the sun rose, there was just light, and silence. A cave empty. And a world full of promises fulfilled.
Author | Teresa Morgan
Image| Mixed Media | Empty Cave by Sam Whiley 2022
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