creative ramblings & reverie

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Easter Eggs

Into the long soon-April grasses
have been slipped the eggs dyed
the exact blue of the sea off Portugal
glazed with imported Lapis Lazuli
ground to a fine powder like Raphael
used for his Madonna’s chaste drapery

and others with a wash of yellow
light as lemon polish on tawny old wood,
beeswax humming with thyme and sun
those fields where the bees swarmed

a few the blushing terra cotta
of old Tuscan walls, or apricots
from that tree in my childhood yard,
made into jam by my mother’s
Norwegian friend Annika and her
daughter, a student of geology,

the jam we’d put on good
Vermont ice-cream and eat out of
paper-thin bowls, Roslyn bone china
back in the Bay Area with writer friends.

Even in her last years, Duet the Black Lab
would have quickly nosed them out,
or the neighborhood kids tugging like kites
at parents’ hands
after an hour’s church and breakfast
potatoes roasted with rosemary;

but we are just as apt to leave them
lie, safe in their grassy nest, instead
of coaxing up with clumsy hands
the delicately colored shells,
their lovely, unendurable fragility.


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