Poem for Two Voices

By Wendy J. Allen

(first voice)		(second voice)
Three crosses on a hill;
		turgid air and still, spear-pointed sun shone on,
“Father, forgive them”
		bloodied fingers plaiting thorns.
His brow sweat tears, blood for blood; contorted shoulders, suffering for mankind, agony of all our hells, abyss beyond our knowing, He donned our transgression like a cloak;
		three sixes won his robe. Dice-tossing men won, lost, and swore beneath his feet.
“My God, my God. …” His father wept, knowing, for our sakes, he must ignore.
		A tremor stopped their play.
	(both voices) Rending tremors, heaven echoing across the world, rock falling upon rock, cold sea seething boiling-pot, mountains to valleys, towns to ash, sea cascading, desert drowning, earth foundering,
		and peace.
Three crosses on a hill
		and shadows lengthening to fill a life a world, a universe, a heart.
“… finished!” Or about to start.