"A Lazarus' Wife," A Poetry Post

The first time it was told to me that
wives received their dead to life,
my eyes shot open in surprise,
a sudden, skeptical surprise.

Now that I've seen the work at play I
cannot fathom what to say to those who
cannot understand the
ease with which God can grant life. 

Quite frankly, I'm a sickler's wife.
I've seen the sleep that erases the line between
the living and the dead and
watched a man wake up instead. 

I've cried the tears that widows cry and
had the bad news calls in mind and
thought ahead to all the acts required
when a husband's died.

I've slept the brief unsettled rests and
smiled the smile of "done my best" and
yet,
as much as I've seen death,
I've seen death come and
seen death left.

I have drawn the long and hot sad baths and
laughed the "Those were good times" laughs and
grieved for wasted times gone past like
many almost widows have.

And yet,
when I have cried and cried and
blown my nose and wiped my eyes and
drained the bath and toweled dry I've found
a dead man
still alive.

I have seen the run come quicks and
thought to myself "This is it" and
hung suspended between faith and
fear that God won't heal the sick.

I have laid my dryness bare and
rubbed Moringa oil in my hair and
dressed myself to see the grave of
men that God did choose to save. 

I have thus concluded, thus,
that life is bigger than all of us.
It is God's will that lets some live and
lets some go on into Heaven.

But I can say I'm not surprised by
when a man lives when he should die since
I have dressed for many deaths and
instead have seen resurrections.

-T. D. James-Moss