In response to John 20
The feeling as they ran.
Hollow and sick, guilt-sick
Like it was their fault the body was gone
Like losing someone else’s baby entrusted to your care.
We should have been standing watch.
We should have known they’d try something.
The hollow ache of grief now suddenly expands
threatens to swallow them like a tomb.
Not just him we have lost but his body too.
The ultimate indignity.
Not even allowed to rest in peace.
Nothing to hang on to.
No headstone. No marker. Only memory.
And memory is already changing.
Morphing, melding, synthesising.
I’m lither, leave Peter in the dust
Pulling up, what’s stopping you?
Go inside, take a look. What is stopping you?
I’m there. I’m in. What am I looking at?
Murk. Waiting for eyes to adjust.
Dank. Feeling around.
Neatly folded cloth. Rock. Dirt.
Doesn’t add up.
If Peter’s gone in, I can too.
Just empty. Hollow.
A hollowness I’ve never yet felt.
A negative of Hades.
Without him, life I imagine is a world without air.