Waiting for Paint to Dry

The dawn invites a beautiful day

Cool, with a breeze from the south

Chilled by the night, over the gulf

It will be a pleasant Sunday

The saws hum, as boards are trimmed

As the sun begins to warm the patio

It is Palm Sunday, a day to remember

There is so much to remember, so much to forget

Finally, the cutting is through,

The wood, primed and ready

The paint glides on, brightening its host

It is as if it were any day, but it is not

It is Palm Sunday, a day we remember

A day we forget

We remember the Christ, riding triumphantly

As the throngs cry out Hosanna

But those same crowds just days later

Cried out for Barabbas

How fickle and petty we humans

How arrogant and assured

Are we in God’s image?

Or is God in ours?

It is Palm Sunday, a day I remember

A day I reflect

As I wait for paint to dry.