Performance
Young girls get into the gardens early in the morning
to gather flowers “for the Lord,” they say. Women keep
quiet. “For the Lord”. The gates creak, bells chime. Swallows
oversee things from above. Buses go by the seashore road.
The wooden painted body is laid. He didn’t know what
to say to the questioner. He didn’t want to drink the potion.
They’ll dress him with flowers again, three days and three
nights. Then, people who couldn’t endure it anymore
“He is risen,” they’ll say and go to their daily affairs
with an Epitaphios flower on their lapel, a red egg and
two Easter cookies in their pockets.
Manolis Aligizakis 