Maybe I have been searching for a poem to share for this Resurrection Sunday, and maybe I have been struggling. I have found parts of poems that are perfect, like Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Spring,” “The smell of the earth is good. | It is apparent that there is no death,” but have not found a whole perfect poem. And then I saw this one, by our beloved Melody. She has a clear and beautiful voice, as well as a clear and beautiful understanding of Christ’s relationship to Heavenly Mother and to women. So here, here is a poem for Sunday, to add to my contribution for Friday.

Three days of white
threads wound
fine
around
around.

Three days of light
shrouded linen
fine
white
light woven.

Three days of. . .

“Where hast thou laid him?”

And she thought,
“Are his wings still wet?”