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Corona de Cristo in the Era of Corona Virus

forty days of fearing
the worst could be happening
worlds falling apart
hospitals filling their beds
loved ones barely breathing

towns running out of most things
they’re needing to curb the suffering—
you know—hoping, hugging, healing–

I am worrying as I hike alone
up a running rivulet Holy Saturday
grieving that worshiping together
is being altogether abandoned

while trying to climb up out of this muddy stream
I see a glowing on the creek bank above me
a wildflower, one I’m remembering
might be the rare Corona de Cristo

recalling how an elderly Mexican woman revealed
“it’s protruding thorns once worn by Jesus on the cross
begin turning into a crown of blossoms
ones we’ve been going to see each Easter day
since the time I began walking ”

I’m standing up high on the bank now,
leaning over the little wreaths
blooming with a paler tint of purple
than I’ve ever seen coloring any floral cluster
each stalk ending in such a glorious wreath
not just reminding us of endings
but foreshadowing new beginnings


Brother Coyote, Easter Day 2020



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