I Could Ask You
by Chris Anderson
I could ask you, how many of the gospels describe
the Resurrection itself, whatever
really happened in that moment, inside the tomb,
and there could be only one right answer,
whatever your faith or doubt: none.
The words are the words. They only say what they say.
I don’t mean Jesus never rose from the dead.
I just mean the Resurrection, as an act, is never described.
We only get there after the fact. We only see
the empty tomb, the bare, hewn rock, the great stone
rolled away, and we only see it from outside, through
the eyes of the dear, believing women, who
are both astonished and afraid. Where is he? they ask
the angel who sits inside the opening. He looks
like a boy. He is not here, the angel says.
Those moments when Jesus comes as a gardener,
or a stranger, or a man broiling fish, all these happen
later, and happen fast. He disappears.
At first we’re not sure who he is. We never are.
Neither do I know what’s going on
inside of you.
Neither do I know what’s going on
inside of me.
***
Read more of Chris Anderson’s poetry in Love Calls Us Here (2024, Wildhouse Poetry.)
