NaPoWriMo, Day 1

EASTER SUNDAY

I feel as though I’ve written

about Easter many times

but never managed to navigate

to a place of reverence,

a point at which I see

the god everyone else sees.

 

This morning I helped my sons

gather plastic eggs from the lawn,

the hyper pinks and yellows popping

like the chrysanthemums not yet bloomed

in the garden.  They crowed with delight

finding chocolate coins inside,

fool’s gold good enough for their fingers

and faces.  The overcast sky

did not speak of joy.

 

There is so much on this earth

that is senseless and cold, colder

than a sky with no sun

or the click of a trigger

and the hand that carries it.

I watch the world–I watch myself–

fail and fail again, lost to ourselves

and clinging to our fool’s gold,

the falsest of idols, the cruelest steel.

 

But this Sunday morning

there were giggles and sweet steam breath,

baskets to fill with plastic trinkets

and chocolate.  There were hands

sifting through damp morning grass,

lifting their treasures high

into the light

to see them clearly.

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