It*s amazing to me how one simple thing, like forsythia, can carry so much. That*s part of Easter for me this year. Mary recognized the Risen Jesus only when He said her name. I don*t think it was because he looked radiantly different. No, we are told she thought He was the gardener. She didn*t see what she was expecting to see: a dead body. There are all kinds of experiments which show we simply don*t see things we are not expecting to see. Our focus is elsewhere. The forsythia has been blooming all of Holy Week and now into Easter. I am still seeing its sign and symbol. Alleluia!
Our garden in back
Is not immediately apparent
From the street.
The garden gates are open
All the gates are open.
The forsythia
Began to speak gold
In the rain,
In anticipation of the Day,
Well in anticipation
Of the Day,
Wild haphazard yellow gold.
Inside the open gates
It waited to see Him,
Waited for His voice
To be heard.
It was there all along
Yellow gold.
She saw it only
After the empty tomb
After the angels,
Only when he called her
By name.
Then, only then she heard his voice
The familiar voice.
It held her name the way she
Held his feet that night
Poured perfume.
Then
She saw the forsythia, yellow gold,
The gates open to the street.
Then she heard the forsythia
Sing.
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