Easter light taunts me now, forcing itself into my cobwebbed sleep, forcing me to get up and meet those I have left on another plain - one of organ song and white roses, morning - coffee - minus- one, and use of the team line, team face, embrace. I don't even have to look at my dad anymore.
But then.
On the table, the biggest Easter eggs I've ever seen. In the kitchen lamb cooking, wafting up the stairs. He spends hours burrowed up in there, laying the table out with care, providing distractions only taste-buds can.
And up he gets. Meticulous care to rise again, to butterfly-net our light,
and I can keep Spring's Easter
until night.
"Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise." -Maya Angelou
All of the fanfare which I cannot touch or even imagine in any tangible context at all, a tummy full of pancakes and my hair still unbrushed, half a mind on all the notes I have to learn and this restless waiting this endless gearing up for something which I cannot even articulate, much less be -
my day in each single spider string defying the cobweb,
Last edited by Jasmine Hart on Fri Apr 29, 2011 8:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise." -Maya Angelou
