A Slice of Sky

Here’s a poem I’m working on:

“I’d like to think on Easter Day,
you’d be spending a whole weeks’ pay
on drinks for the boys and jokes
for the gals.

Leaning on elbows
with leaves in your sleeves
you’d talk of

daffodils, yellow
and full,
bursting -dancing on that
self-same hill,
where the gentle poet walked
and waited until,

the day had passed and the
sparrows still-

and make us long
for home.

I’d like to think on Easter day,
you’d be with us,
steeped in earth and mud
and blood ;
not velcroed in cloisters
of polished steel.

Clay
cup
holding
You.
Thank you
thank you
for not being
syrup contained in
tinkling glass cupcakes.

Happy Easter Daysies.”

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