Pietà - a short poem for the 13th Station of the Cross

As I mentioned earlier, St. Mary’s House (Episcopal), Greensboro has a Good Friday Stations of the Cross service at which 14 different people offer meditations (some verbal, others musical or visual) at each of the 14 stations.

This was mine.


The Thirteenth Station:
Jesus is taken down from the cross
and placed in the arms of his mother


They brought me my boy.

They placed his broken body
in my arms.

I cannot tell you what I felt
now
these many years later

even knowing
what I now know.

It was as if
the world imploded
into silence
or a scream
perhaps mine
I am not sure
silence or scream
it made me deaf

They brought me my boy.

Who brought him?
I do not remember.
Someone did.
There were others there.
Miriam.
The other Miriam.
Friends.
Soldier?

They brought me my boy.

His body in my lap.
His body which had come
from my body.

As my womb tore open
and bled
to give him to the world
my heart
tore
bled
dry.

They brought me my boy.

There is no meaning when your child dies.
No voice speaking.
Only the great void.
And the holding
holding his body.

His body.

His body.

My boy.

Jane Carol Redmont

Good Friday, 2008