Walking back
from celebrating
in a tradition to which
I do not belong
(thickness of incense,
spit of water,
organ's postludal
jubilation),
I pass two older women,
perms a red molasses,
tucking pansies under
the funeral home's sign.
Birds are singing and,
despite probabilities
of the perennial
April snowman,
we are out of the woods.
We have survived
another winter.
from celebrating
in a tradition to which
I do not belong
(thickness of incense,
spit of water,
organ's postludal
jubilation),
I pass two older women,
perms a red molasses,
tucking pansies under
the funeral home's sign.
Birds are singing and,
despite probabilities
of the perennial
April snowman,
we are out of the woods.
We have survived
another winter.
You paint a beautiful picture here. Happy Easter, Elena!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Thomas! I loved your Easter poem: http://thecrystaltambourine.blogspot.com/2016/03/an-easter-poem.html
ReplyDelete(and I don't think mine is any better than yours--ha!)