a slab of native limestone
where His body was anointed,
lies beneath a slab of marble
to protect it from pilgrims who
once took chips from it.
The marble has been worn by
a thousand thousand kisses.
How can stone feel this soft?
I am surprised and pleased
by its warmth, it asks my lips
to linger. Then the shock
-like the ones I’ve felt run up my arm
to my neck after walking on synthetic
carpet and touching a doorknob.
Hair standing up like an cat
arching its back, a small and not
really unpleasant tingle that felt
like Welcome. Like the tears I had shed
at the foot of the Western Wall,
the Wailing Wall of the Second Temple
where I slipped a small prayer
entrusted to paper into a crack
between the blocks. It was answered.
Many times. Times that sometimes
I wish were gentler, but it was
the right prayer. And the blessing,
the embrace of the Holy Spirit
when I kissed the Stone of Unction
confirmed it. I carry it still.
