Mornings Are the Best Time

Mornings Are the Best Time

(“Don’t panic! You’re looking for Jesus from Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been brought back to life. He’s not here. Look at the place where they laid him.” Mark 16:6b)

Someone left the door open and all the breeze
searched the corners of the room and the dogs
bayed
at the intrusion.
Something swelled from within,
something we had not seen before;
something breathed like an open yawn,
something we had not heard before.

Angels sit on the porch announcing the
sunny morning. Angels, like fierce beasts,
flustered us; angels, like tender rain,
assured us.

Someone was free, someone defeated death.
Somewhere in the raising of the day,
somewhere between my house and yours,
behind locked doors that never kept him away we
found what escaped our perfect reasoning and
we swallowed our tongues at the thought.
Reality was more concrete than our theories
of life and death.

Didn’t our minds spin at the thought of it?
Didn’t our hearts dive at the weight of it?
Didn’t our hearts fly at the sight of it?
Didn’t our minds rise at the grace of it?

We could barely speak at the jolt of it.
We could barely believe, but we caught our words
and remembered that mornings are the best time
for celebrating stones that have been rolled away.