This week’s poem in the Catholic Poetry Room is by Jeffrey Essmann.
Holy Saturday
The Word made flesh is silent now,
Its dying prophecy a tortured groan.
It seems the final mystery’s how
The Son of God could die so quite alone.
Outside the guards their sentry hold
With Roman self-conceit,
While just behind the stone in darkness cold
In linen bands now swaddled head to feet
Is not a body but a grain of wheat.
Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, Ekstasis Magazine, Amethyst Review, The Society of Classical Poets, The Chained Muse, Agape Review, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He was the 2nd Place winner in the Catholic Literary Arts 2022 Assumption of Mary poetry contest and 1st Place winner in its Advent: Mary Mother of Hope contest later that year. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room.
