The National Catholic Review

"He observed the wrappings on the ground and saw the piece of cloth
which had covered the head not lying with the wrappings,
but rolled up in a place by itself. "

 

Was it like waking up after long sleep,
throwing off the wrappings, then rolling
up the head cloth because it was nearest

to hand that morning he came to
before the stone gave way?
Maybe, sitting there a moment,

unsure of where or who he was,
he rubbed his eyes, waiting for
something to come back, then took

the wrapping in his hands, feeling
the texture and give of the cloth
that allowed the old world in,

fibrous, dense, and shifting. Then,
as the memories began to filter in,
he must have rolled the cloth (as he'd

been taught), and laid it aside, before
he followed the two in dazzling robes
into the unfamiliar day.

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