Second Sunday of Easter

Childish hands, curly hair,

Disney princess dress,

Knobby knees bisecting skinny legs,

Dirty feet with painted toes.

Tired eyes, silly laughter,

Little arms embrace as sleep draws near;

Snoring sweet from mouth petite,

Foster parents adoring by her bed.

Wooden benches, legal laptops,

Suited lawyers, judicial decrees;

Family services, juvenile offices,

Birth mother’s rights restored.

Childish hands, curly hair

Gentle voice with loud, juicy lisp,

Knobby knees and gleaming eyes,

Taken away to another home.

Empty hallways, echoing bedrooms,

Backyard filled with abandoned toys;

Car seat vacant, souls are barren,

Foster parents bereft of joy.

Easter

A skeptic was I, upon a time,

Not so long ago,

Yet long enough that it became my tradition,

Entered my long-term memory and self-awareness.

No transcendence or immanence knew I,

But only that which was rational and sound.

A skepticism borne of grief –

The loss of career, and with it belief,

And later the horror of pleading silence

Where a beating heart had been.

A year ago I was in hell:

One life lost, two others closely following.

Three deaths in such short span

Defeated hope and dismantled cheer.

Easter day dinner was taken in shifts,

So one could always be with the dying one –

Life was swallowed up in dying and death.

I could not believe in joy beyond this mortal life.

Reason overcomes emotion, I firmly believe,

And I immersed myself in soothing logic,

Rejecting that which had no rational purpose.

I cast aside hate and love,

Spirituality and justice,

In favor of study and increased time at work.

Rationality became my god.

Now one year later I have emerged from hell,

Like Beowulf from the deep,

Or Lazarus from the tomb.

No monster have I fought,

And no savior called me forth:

Two young girls have restored my life,

And given me reason to love.