Gethsemane
Old olive trees curl and bend their trunks
dangling their silver greens while
Bellflowers and Jerusalem Sage nip the nose
of faraway travels and friars their green stems
now infused with solitude taught by their Rabbi
long ago in private Imagine the stars now or
no stars how dim the light grew how night
surrounded the Lord His sighs His trembles
and only the little olive trees stand awake
listening in an old tongue His surrender
in preparation for the irruption of the divine
and yet His sufferings go unseen by sleepy friends
who fail even without knowing that a simple
request wounded trust And now the darkness
exists in variations more familiar than trusting
all green things will bloom again in spring
Mawi Sonna is a graduate student in English Literature and Creative Writing. She is enchanted by the crucifix, poetry, tiktok, and supermarket flowers. After various encounters with Catholicism, she cannot wait to enter the Church in April, but is currently savoring the journey home.