holy monday: thomas.

This is the part, I think,
Where I confess that I have no idea
What’s going on–
You parade in to the city like a king,
Like a messiah, if I may put a point on it,
And this morning you put a curse on that
Tree, and then you stormed into the temple,
Almost like you were trying to get
On the bigwigs’ bad side on purpose–

Look. I know what I said on the way to
Bethany, about coming to die with you,
And, Lord, I’m pretty ready to do that. I think.
And all I know is that I used to feel like that
Fig tree, and you’ve reversed the curse on me,
And I am in some ways sprouting and growing
Where I once was withered.
But what do you know that we don’t,
That you are so intent on getting cursed yourself?

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