Palm Sunday Poem

I wrote this poem a few years ago, and it has added meaning since I haven’t attended mass since the pandemic hit last year. I dusted it off today for Palm Sunday and revised it.

Palm Sunday

Looking at the attendees
at mass this morning—
a mix of people
holding palm fronds,
a diverse collection
of human specimens,
cells and blood wrapped in skin
and topped with hair.

We are bodies
moving toward death,
passing on a journey
leading to dust or fire,
burial or cremation.
But does the soul live on?

No one knows
for sure if a spark of life
exists after death takes hold.
But faith allows one
to accept this uncertainty,
trusting in the words
Jesus spoke and the work
he accomplished.

And so we celebrate
his entry into Jerusalem
on this Palm Sunday,
while acknowledging Good Friday
will come for all of us.

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