A Man with Rose in Hand

A (3rd) Ekphrasis in honour of Good Friday

The Game of Checkers. Edouard Vuillard. 1899. 19th century color lithograph.

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A Man With Rose in Hand

It is checkers, not chess, they play. Black-and-white paint conceal  
the splinters raiding the wooden board, poised to prick fingers as 
they push the pieces forward. No crown, no queenship, no knight-
in-shining-silver -- circles alone compose the humble fields
where all men die, where man may be a king. The scarlet of 
their gowns recount an opera of blood and grief while dissonant 
waves engulf their walls, the rage of war stopped by a man 
with rose in hand who falls so that his sons may be. 
And yet, they do not see his subtle submission. The boy sits with 
his shoulders hunched; the shade of death before him in the blackened lines 
of endless squares. His fingers tremble as he awaits the second when 
the pothole sinks into a coffin. One must die: these are the rules. 
No chair supports his father's aching back; he sits, his shoulders straight,
his eyes are sad as he considers how to die, though he need not,
and offer triumph to his son, who will not know until the day
he offers triumph to his son. The daughter grips her neckline, 
hovering in the place of helpless intervention, like a mother left 
behind whose tears enfold the frozen toes of her frozen son. 
She knows. He sets the checker in the box, a love that takes
another route to offer another life. One day the son will see 
the roses staining the ivory chair, the chair that bears his being. 

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Note from the Poet

In honour of Good Friday, I thought I would compose an ekphrasis poem that carries imagery from the passion. As I had begun to write this poem in February, it became more apparent to me how the game of checkers could function as a metaphor for the passion. While not a perfect metaphor, I saw the connection between the checker piece (a simple pawn different from chess in its absence of regality) and the humility of Christ in his choice to become a “man” in a metaphorical board of checkers. Like the father in the painting, who loses the game, Christ “though he need not” “die,” chooses “another route to offer another life.” This Good Friday, through this ekphrasis, I wanted to remember that it was not I that triumphed, not I that earned new life, the “ivory chair” — but it was the startling gift of a compassionate Father. May we understand this sacrifice in a renewed way this Easter as we, in sacrificial humility, “offer triumph” to the people that surround us.

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He is Risen,

Abigail