Mary Magdalene

Standing at the empty tomb, 

wanting to believe.

Devastated,

yet numb.

Weeping,

yet dried up.

Hoping,

yet crushed.

Dare I hope? The tomb is empty.

The faithful have made my faith a mockery.

The lovers have bruised my fragile heart.

The believers have filled me with doubt.

Tenaciously clinging to something —

–anything —

Why do I hang on?

How?

Why have I not yet fallen?

Could I already be damned?

But there is still hope, my bedrock.

Hope screams at me to hang on,

calls out to me to relax,

whispers I am not alone.

From behind, the glow of dawn,

and a voice which says… “Woman, you need but turn around.”