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.