EASTER Poem by Maria van Daalen

Someone must be the witness
and arise when the body can no longer take the sorrow.

I arise in due course,
just like he, without any effort,
and depart from my past time
until I arrive in my body,
my lair, the bed my soul has selected for itself.
The battlefield, the captivity,
the merging which will be marked for death,
so that what I want to have said will happen to us,
namely, notably
the love, the life,
the singularity, the day-to-day boasting, that I love you
and will wash up tonight
all the plates, all the cups
and all that's all holy.
Thus it shall be.
The clean dishes in the cupboard.
The towels hanging on the radiator.
The world at my feet,
the dead in the ground.

And somewhere, going to seed, blossoming,
a new garden
and fresh earth.