little good things
In this patch of grass beside the road
dandelion heads are small moons;
their rusty stems lean into wind.
Beside them, new clover
freckles the rising grass.
Even here
in things so little
abundance is prodigal;
renewal claims
and reclaims us.
Even here
“Love has such wide arms.”
And in that still voice...
The sky cracked with lightning,
roared like a soul in pain;
graves split and spilled
chattering bones;
the Veil tore apart
like sucked breath,
and the people who had shouted
Hosannah! and then Crucify!
screamed for salvation.
This was the Death.
The Life came quietly
as dawn.
No one noticed.
Except one woman
in a dark garden growing rose
with new day
who could only whisper
Rabbi!
Ann Boaden (Ph. D., University of Chicago) lives, writes, and teaches college in Illinois. Her work appears/is forthcoming in Another Chicago Magazine, Big Muddy, Blue Unicorn, Ginosko, litbreak (Editor's Pick), One Art, The Other Journal, Penwood Review, Persimmon Tree, South Dakota Review, Time of Singing, and Windhover, among others.