Easter 2020
This is the day our forsythia will open,
the day our neighbors will leaf-blow their yard,
the day, they say, Christ rolled back the stone
and the last Sunday before the first anniversary
of my mother’s death. This is the day
of the goddess Eostre, a day of springtime
we have been given to rise once more
and help each other live, grass greening.
Today is a day many will die
to be recorded as x, y, z in the ledger
of those taken by the plague
and when they run out of alphabet
they’ll just start over, like hurricanes.
This day Christians proclaim joy
at victory over death –
but he still had to go through it.
This is the day a year ago we sat and held
my mother’s hand –
I don’t know what to do, she said.
We stared out at the daffodils together,
knowing nothing of how to finish dying.
