Kirsten Lasinski

What the women saw

The men called it an idle tale,

a fool’s hope like a tangled vine

knotting tendrils in the dark.

But then, some people prefer

the tomb. Some prefer their locks

rusted shut, a bent nail

to a key. Some people prefer

an idle tale, foolish women

and the certain weight

of stone. Even so, the women

testified of the tomb

swallowed up in song,

every stone of his

shallow bed singing

singing the radiance

of the vine.

The door

We worship the God

of closed doors, who tenderly

gathers our failed dreams

like crumbling laurels laid

in tribute at his feet, then lifts

us up again, eager to bless that

narrow scrap of white

fluttering over the citadel

of self. Who could have

guessed his broken flesh

his borrowed poverty

would be the dream

we couldn’t ignore?

All hail the God

of the wanting grave!

At last, our open door.

Kirsten Lasinski's poetry has appeared in Copper Nickel, Ruminate, Fathom, 2River, and Time of Singing. Moody Publishing published two of her novels, and she recently co-authored a book on Christian discipleship called Simple Grace. She lives in Denver and enjoys hiking and cooking  for her husband and daughters.