Saturday, March 30, 2013


Digitalized antique photo--photographer unknown


The sky is gray this Easter day
as Ohio skies tend to be,
but the air is soft
with promise, with lambent light
shining on hidden eggs
in nests of new spring grass.
From the kitchen smells of ham
and potatoes and pie
waft through the cool air.

The grandmothers wipe their hands
on Sunday aprons, watch
my boy and girl tumbling through the grass.
I watch them, memorizing
the worn lines of their faces
the comfort of those ample arms
that nurtured me, once and still.
Great-grandmothers now--
grandfathers gone on before them
to that place that beckons
this day of hope and resurrection.

Grandma Agnes takes a last pie
out of the oven, while I try
to gather up memories,
fading even as I watch, and
Grandma Ruth calls us in to dinner,
her good church dress soft
and flowing as soon-to-be-wings.



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