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Easter Sunday

de Esmé Patterson

Cold rain, Easter Sunday
Bluebirds diving from the city trees
Garlands of plastic bags are waving from their branches
The air is wet and thick and somehow
Also thin and clear in the cold with the birds
Trilling, the grey sky, new green blades of grass and

In the spring, one forgets that nothing that we love can stay
(It's so easy to forget among the flowers)
But maybe some things can stay
Just because we love them and because
We love them when they die
It's only half a death

Alive and well, an imprint of you is warm
On my memory in your Egyptian cotton suit
With your Easter Sunday eyes
Bright and cloudy all at once and
Eternally new

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