Easter Sunday--Blessings

Blessings of Easter-tide to you and yours. I wrote this poem three years ago, and it still holds true in a lot of ways. It was first published by Global Poemic, in slightly different form.

Pandemic Easter, 2020

 

Rough from so many ritualistic washings, twenty seconds each time,

                        "I will wash my hands in innocency, so will I compass thine altar, O Lord…"

my ripping, winter-soft hands grasp and claw at dead things,

intent on scratching some small space for beauty. Brittle leaves,

                        “Take off the grave clothes…”

splintered grass, wind-blown paper and snow-faded candy wrappers

give way. Shifting raised forms into position feels like faith.

I find daffodils.