Like a waif reaching for the last crust of bread,
I reach for His hand with hesitation.
He smiles a poignant smile.
“No need,” He whispers.
“It must be fulfilled.”
I’m mesmerized by His essence
and the purity in His eyes.
On my knees beside Him,
I am unworthy to brush
against His garment.
In the twilight, I see droplets of perspiration
on His forehead. A closer look
shocks me. Strands of long,
dark hair press onto
His cheeks.
As He lowers His face into His hands,
I start to sob for Him. “Save
your tears,” He cautions,
as He looks up. at me.
“You will need them
for your children.”
I don’t understand what He means, yet
I know somehow that it’s time for
me to leave. I long to stay and
soothe His brow with my
ointment, but He says,
”Go in peace.”
As I get up, I fear for what lies ahead for Him,
but I really don’t want to know.
I wonder if He knows,
and that is why He
sweats
blood
droplets.
Mary Ann Gauthier’s fiction, nonfiction and poetry have been published in numerous magazines and online venues, among them Byline, Buffalo Spree, Poet, Liguorian, and The Chronicle of Higher Education. She is a retired adjunct professor of writing courses at the University of St. Joseph in West Hartford, Connecticut, as well as at other Connecticut colleges. Her master’s thesis was approved with commendation at Southern Connecticut State University in New Haven, Connecticut.