Last week, there was this moment. I was rocking William to sleep in my arms and a poem formed through jumbles of thought. It isn't that I don't see the importance of celebrating newness and that I don't love a good Easter egg hunt. As a matter of fact, the first Easter egg William picked up on our hunt was plastic purple with jelly beans in side and I love Robins Eggs (the malted chocolate crunchy ones!) The freedom to love and laugh and walk though life enjoying celebrations with our friends is what I feel Easter to us. Because deep down, I know I am loved by the master of the universe in the most deep passionate way and because of that . . .
My Easter is not pastel.
It is not a yellow number 5
Starburst Jelly Bean
In a purple plastic egg
Buried in green strips of plastic grass.
It isn’t a cheap chocolate bunny
Wrapped in yellow foil
Wrapped in plastic and paper
With big white fluffy raised words --
The Easter Bunny.
My Easter is not a rushed trip to the mall
To pick out the perfect matching
Hat, dress, sweater, and shoes
Advertised in last Sunday’s paper.
On sale -- Only this week. . .
My Easter is a deep red bloodied
Body. One of 3 hung on splintered wood
Cursed and accused and beaten
Down to dark purple skin.
Buried in a dull dark tomb -- In Strips of linen.
My Easter is the end of a blood bath
In Egypt. Sons dead in their beds.
An angel of death passing over bloody doorways --
The sign that they would escape the death,
And walk away from slavery --into freedom.
My Easter basks in the love of the King of Glory
Who wore the dirt and grime of the universe,
And took my grief and sorrow and shame.
Who rose up again and lives.
The sign that we can walk away from death
Into life – Forever.