[A Poem Each Day This Holy Week]
This withering palm I hold tight
Even today, Monday
Overnight I couldn't let go
Slept on it, felt it on my cheek
Just for an afternoon you
Seemed ready to take the city
Ready to tell Pilate off
Send his legion back, way back
Where they belong
Meek might win, I heard someone say
Peacemakers make peace, another
And for an afternoon you
Seemed able to heal the wound
That rips at the world's flesh
Today, Monday
You're telling stories
Walking around, kicking
Balls through the streets
Laughing with beggars and hookers
What about revolution?
What about Pilate?
What about war?
They're singing songs of liberation
On the mount
And I'm not sure you're interested
This withering palm is just a souvenir
A memory of yesterday's parade
Promises made, doubt left behind
Unless
Unless liberation has nothing to do
With winning, and you
Are showing us steps in
A dance we don't understand
Yet
