In the parking lot
Of the Lutheran church
Flats sold for twenty dollars each
Help the blind to see,
Clear blurred vision,
Benefit the sight-impaired.
Across the lot from the tent-covered sale
In the unopened building
Is stained glass of the last meal,
Reds and purples darkened by closed doors
That will not open at dawn tomorrow.
In the church's final days,
Many had told me,
"Before the church closes,
you must go inside.
You must see the glass
From the inside looking out."
But I can only see
From the outside looking in.
I place one flat of strawberries
On the front seat of my car,
Between the dog and me.
The strawberries glimmer
In his eyes
As his moist nose creeps over them.
I wash one, and then another,
In the kitchen sink,
Between my thumb and forefinger,
The red juice seeping down my hand
And onto the dog's waiting, lapping tongue.
He drinks a holy fruit
Here on the outside
As disciples sit dark and frozen
On the inside
Of silent glass.
(Originally written on Holy Saturday of 2014. Revised on Holy Saturday of 2018.)