Friday, April 22, 2011

When a century had passed: a drawing and a poem



When I was a kid, on Good Friday in the small town where I grew up,
the stores all closed from noon until three o’clock.



“Canvas 233”
April 21, 2011

[click to enlarge]



When a century had passed

When a century had passed
and their tea had grown cold,
he spoke:

I interpret your silence thus,
he said,

That something in my face
has come between us; like a primitive mask
in torchlight, it frightens you.

Whence came the answer:

Not your face, but a sudden fear
of my own; for what you see, I think,
appalls me.

And they sat quietly for another century.

The minutes were the fingers of their hands.
The seconds were the bones inside them.
The miracle was that it should be so.

Then there arose the cry of a great multitude
and the sound of someone hammering.

There it is again,
the first said.

Crucified,
came the reply.

And they waited helplessly for the sound to end.

When it did, these words were said:

There is something I want to tell you.

What is it, pray?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing, my friend.


2 comments:

Old 333 said...

Thanks, x3, William. Really liked that one.

P.

William Michaelian said...

Great to hear. Thanks, Peter. I appreciate it.