Mary's Eyes

I could not help but smile to myself as I looked down
on the three women walking side by side, their baskets of spice and bitter herbs
resting tilted on their hips, and the fragrant bundles of sun-kissed
wild flowers, bound together by handmade twine, rested atop the gathered foods
and the aromas which I breathed into them, clung to their wraps.

It pleased me to hear the chimes of life in their voices again, as they
talked among each other, and took the width of the worn and trodden path
beneath them, as they stepped slowly, savoring time
and speaking with smiles and soft laughter, spirit that had been so absent from them
only days before, when their hearts were torn in two for me, when I
would have given anything to come down from my stake and dry
the tears that poured from their weary eyes, and to hold in my arms
their trembling bodies, which shook with grief and pain
but I could not.

I watched closely as they approached the tomb, guarded by
fallen men and a glow of angelic light which seeped brilliantly
through the circular entrance, to where the stone was rolled away and
left open a path to which their eyes followed, troubled at first
but I knew they would be in awe upon their discovery when they entered
and found the angel waiting patiently, just as I had told him to
there on the bed of rock where I was laid, where his fingers toyed
with the linens that clothed me no more, and he said to them
“Be not afraid, women, your Jesus is risen!”
And never could anyone describe her look, Mary’s eyes that I saw
that grew with sudden vibrance, and life thought to be forever lost,
eyes that glistened with Me
because love was stronger than My death.