Mandé
A #poetry thread
i.
An evening meal with an old friend
who told us he’d cross a stony bridge,
its span a trial, then he’d descend
to wade into black waters’ edge.
Upon the table stripped and bare,
a bowl of dried roses, grey as stone.
The meal that we'd been served was spare:
a loaf, thinned wine, a candle blown.
🧵👇🏼
#poem #poemaday #maundythursday #holyweek #easter #catholic #anglican #photography
ii.
Our host had called us, friends he knew.
He spoke; we could not meet his eyes.
Then someone in the dark withdrew,
perhaps to weep, though his eyes were dry.
Dry roses lay there, mixed with herbs,
that failed to mask the scent of fate.
We taste their bitterness with words
that turn our tongues to desert waste.
🧵👇🏼
iii.
He told us: “Love each other well
as I have loved you all this time.”
But this night’s clouds can’t be dispelled
by crumbs and drops of bread and wine.
And then he rises to depart
with us to gardens by the moon:
we wait there, watch with charcoal hearts,
when we hear footfalls — armed men in view.
✋🏼🧵
Jack Groundhog 📷📸🪶