AN EASTER POEM

Digitalized antique photo--photographer unknown

TWO GRANDMOTHERS

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.

~mimi