A Poem for Easter

Spring Red Flower Garden Red Tulips Plant Tulips


by J McNamara

My mother on her knees one Sunday in Lent
bent to check the soil to divine
which bulbs survived winter’s freeze
to bring the green come Easter.
She wore no gloves in spite of icy air,
and the memory of red polish on her nails
suggests something I couldn’t see then,
some sympathetic magic that could do more
than mend the frayed edges of my coat
or untangle snarls in my hair,
some sacrament that could make new tulips
rise up red against the faded fence
when fasting days finally ended
in the communion of colored eggs
and chocolate. On that day,
all the ashes would be kissed from my brow,
because Mother on her knees one morning in Lent
bent to resurrect bouquets, indifferent to mud
that drenched the hem of her Sunday dress.

© Jacalyn McNamara 2019

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