I’m sorry: We had to hurry because the sun
was about to set and start the sabbath, and
so you didn’t get entirely properly buried.
We just wrapped your body up in some cloths
with some aloe and spices and got you into
the tomb so we wouldn’t be breaking the law.
We are men of standing, Nicodemus and I;
even in our grief we have to keep decorum.
Teacher, I am sorry that I couldn’t do more
to keep you from this fate. I said too little
too late, and now just on the other side of this
stone is your poor body, your skin
in shreds and your hands and feet broken by
Roman nails. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more than this.
Is there still forgiveness for me?
Not that there is an answer for me now.
I suppose I will have to wait until the day
the Messiah comes and raises us all from the dead
to find out.
Until then, we rest.