by Paulette Callen
“He wept, they say, when told of my death.
I always wondered why.”
-Lazarus 40 AD-
“Lazarus, come forth!”
shattered his hope.
Warm light
replaced by cold
stone and death-cave stench.
He struggled to sit up
(the command still pulsed through the sharp edges of broken time)
difficult
bound as he was
from head to toe
in linen strips
difficult
to sit
to stand
to shuffle toward the dusty shaft
of common Judean light
hardly knowing if he was coming or going.
Through a sagging strip
he spied his famous friend
arms outstretched
voice still echoing
through the Valley of the Dead.
He thought
The crowds must be inured to
mere healing
fast food
and traversing water without a boat.
Ah. Well. Death
has made me cynical.
They unwrapped him
and washed him
gave him his robe
and his old job back.
Lazarus shrugged
and waited for the years to pass.
Paulette Callen has returned to her home state of South Dakota in retirement, after 30+ years in New York City. Varying degrees of culture shock in both directions — but always, the place she returned to has been made home by a dog.