Saint Mary, Rye, Sussex.
It was darkness
When Nicodemus finally turned up.
Helpers so needed.
We had no strength, were exhausted,
Standing for hours
It had all been waiting, these past days,
Our conversations muted.
And what he seemed to want.
To be with us.
The love palpable,
See …. they have almost released his hands.
When these Romans do a job,
They do it well.
There is no blood left to flow.
How delicately they support him.
The chink of a tool,
As he is laid upon the ground.
An execution ground.
See …. they remove those thorns,
What possessed them to do that to him?
So near now to Mary’s feet.
She doesn’t stir.
Watching, absorbed within herself,
Gathering her son,
All he has left to her,
See …. they clear as best they may
The detritus of the day
And wrap him in the cloth they brought.
They thought of everything!
We can think of nothing,
Except that he is gone
And the great chasm of loneliness we bear.
She moves as he is borne away,
Takes my arm.
It will soon be dawn.