All the women came back to our house,
So it’s just us. And our brother, laying low after
A month of miracles, and a few hangers-on:
All of us healed in some way, recipients of
Some gift. And we are chopping up the herbs,
Baking the bread. The men came back from the
Temple with the lamb and poured its blood on our house,
And now we eat.
But the twelve? And the Lord? In Jerusalem, and all I want–
Though I am grateful for this company, this family stitched together
Around my tired heart to keep it warm–all I want
Is to run into town and fall at His feet again, still scented
With last week’s perfume, and listen.
I fear that tonight, after a month of miracles,
The miracles may end for good.