I prepare the water steeped in fragrant herbs
And cannot tell - is this the water
From the place of our baptism?
I pass the towel, soaked and fresh
To wipe the signs of life and death
Away from carcass remnants.
I hold his arm as my sister cleans
And we both move in dance like caresses
Remembering better days and hours.
I weep. She mutters.
She bids me stay and tend, hurrying away...
I know not where to... or to whom...
(John 11:1-45)
(C) 2017, A.Koh-Butler
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