Two little girls
on a crisp and windy spring evening walk
hats pinned in place,
new patent-leather shoes and virginal ankle socks
twinkle up basalt steps.
Good Friday, Missa Solemnis,
priest in purple mourning.
They dip fingers in holy water,
Genuflect, ease into the pew.
Age-old pageantry unfolds,
holds them spell-bound.
The sermon recounts
Christ’s last hours of life.
The older one sheds tears;
the younger fidgets,
50 years later, a phone call comes.
“You have got to go see The Passion”,
says the friend…
“It’s amazing, harrowing, upsetting!
Mel Gibson of Road Warrior fame
has made a film of Christ’s last hours of life.
The dialogue is in Aramaic,
the setting in Palestine, the actors,
unknowns, the budget huge”.
“This is entertainment,
All to fill the void; millions of dollars spent to create
Something more terrible than the actual lives of
Most living things; one should never have to pay an admission to hell.” *(C B)
50 years later, the older sister is living
her own version of hell.
She doesn’t need to watch a facsimile
glimmer on the silver screen.
After all, it was she who often walked to church
barefoot, carrying her shoes and missal,
weekly re-enacting the Passion,
The younger one still fidgets,
and asks “Why?”
*(Charles Bukowski quote) GM, 2004