April 3, 2021

Easter Saturday
Out of Bed, a Resurrection

When I rise from morning sheets fluffed 
like poppy fields around my drowsy mind
it’s a mystery, this sudden rowing back from Styx,
that is, how death dispenses life like that. 

What impulse sends the signal to my feet, 
to find myself fully risen, a bit vertiginous, 
spiraling into day? A practice run, this sleep, 
these voyages to the deep and back. 

And so I grow accustomed to the dark,
and this flickering of my day and night. 
Even the jonquils soldiering in the yard 
lift their heads to sunlight 
after a night of unexpected, 
always expected, snow.

I woke up to the beginnings of this thought, and shaped it a bit into this poem. Happy Easter to all!

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