Friday, April 13, 2012
Seven Stanzas at Easter
by John Updike
Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.
It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.
The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
(Read the rest here, and thanks again, Atticus, for the idea.)
The Poetry Friday round up is at Booktalking.