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Station 13.jpg

jesus is taken down from the cross

Untitled design (9).png
Untitled design (9).png

station 13: deposition

Station 13.jpg

Hear our prayers

For all who pick up the pieces.

Deal with the aftermath.

Face the next day.

Hear our laments.

The Many - We Wait for You

by Ada Limón

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving

their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me. When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,

the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin

growing over whatever winter did to us, a return

to the strange idea of continuous living despite

the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,

I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf

unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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