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  • Carolyn Martin

Easter Sunrise Mass

by Carolyn Martin

And it was all ground-crunching glory

on the high school football field

where we huddled for the final play.

We knew the drill this frosted dawn.

No surprise. He’d break through grief

and fear and pounce on death again.

So to liven up the victory,

I hid balloons inside my car

and planned to set them free the moment

Easter alleluia-ed in. And it would be

all pinks, mint greens, and baby blues splashing

Jersey skies with cheers to hang our memories on.

But nature sacked my pastel scheme.

Just as the sun broke through,

my impudent balloons refused to fly.

They rabbited the turf, hopping

over weeds and parking lots, racing

unforgiving winds down unrisen streets.

And it was all confusion and dismay

with colors dashing off and students,

parents, nuns and priests applauding the scene.

As if it were a practiced play and I,

a brilliant mastermind, I faked a hero’s bow

and headed home to break my fast.

No surprise: the gravity of ups and downs,

the triumph of community,

the glory pouring over earth.

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