My Easter Mother
Have no idea why the formatting refuses to work here. Hopefully you get the general idea! (Blogs don’t like poetry.)
It’s the Saturday before the Saturday before–
Everything’s almost done.
Easter dresses, matching: hemmed and hanging.
Eggs, two dozen, waiting to dye.
Basket treats purchased and hidden away.
It’s the Saturday before–
our guests are all here.
Neighbors, church folks, family and strangers
Eggs, freshly hued, tucked low in tall grass.
A prize egg too, stuffed with secret delights.
“Go find them” “I see one!” “All done!” “Oh! Let’s see!”
It’s the Sunday we planned for
And it’s all just right.
Baskets with bunnies and chocolate and more.
New dresses, new shoes, and purses to match.
Lunch nearly made before breakfast is done.
A long-eared cake with smile on its face.
There’s the camera, take the pictures, hurry up, let’s get going
Church starts soon; we cannot be late.
(“Daddy needs us there in time for his sermon, you know.”)
“She’s a stay -at-home mom,” some would say of my mother.
“Doesn’t work, unemployed, has no job in the world.”
Say what you will, and I’ll tell you what’s true:
Mother gave us Easter every day of the year.