So, it's Easter. Easter was never a big holiday for my secular family growing up. So here's a poem about that!
We never went to church on Easter mornings,
Instead, the day began like any other –
I woke up to the house, clean, empty and quiet
As a tomb, awash in in the dim blue color
of early mornings before the sunrises.
I was the first one up and so I snuck
Into the living room, turned the TV on,
the volume down as not to wake my brothers,
let time flow through me as I lay in wait
For everyone else to awake from their slumber,
For the lights to flip on, for my father’s
hushed murmurs, for eyes to bloom open,
the pounding of feet down the hall,
for the smells of life to waft through the house,
coffee, bacon grease, burnt toast, for the sun
to stream through the dusty kitchen windows,
for the taste of orange juice on my lips,
for the kiss on my forehead, a nudge
on my shoulder, as if this awakening
together happened every single day,
as if it wasn’t some kind of miracle.