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Now / it’s your limbs he comes to fill

Cool Easter poem. Read it. You’ll like it, even if poetry isn’t your thing. If Christ is your thing, it’ll shed new light on the resurrection. (To find out exactly why you like it, go here.)

Descending Theology: The Resurrection

By Mary Karr

From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—
till the hung flesh was empty.
Lonely in that void even for pain,
he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now

it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.

(HT: Abraham Piper)

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