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Easter

We are stumbling
down the hill,
sliding on rocks,
falling over each
other,
to see who
gets to the cave
first--
we were told
someone was there,
by the waitress
at the cafe,
who ran in,
disheveled,
out of breath,
and full of alarm--
it made us hold
our coffee cups
in mid-sip,
lips pursed,
eyes up over
the rim,
frozen--
then out the
door,
running,
wondering aloud
if it
were John,
having been
lost for three days
since we had
ventured
deep into the
cave
together,
the light
went out,
and only two of us
came back--
we had
searched
and searched--
went back
three days
in a row
with the
firemen,
policemen,
and two dogs--
but all we found
was a fragment
of cloth
from an old
t-shirt
that was probably mine--
no sign of John
anywhere.
We had given
up, slogged
back to the cafe
for breakfast
early Sunday,
not sure
we were going
back
to look again--
now out of
breath,
anticipating
meeting up with
him again,
cursing him
for scaring the
pee out of us,
hugging him,
like he was
a prodigal son
or something else
come home--
and that ache
behind the
breastbone building,
like after a day
body surfing
at Jones Beach,
we were anticipating,
wishing,
hoping anew--
downright bubbling,
sputtering and
whooping as
we ran round that hill
and into the gulch,
dodging rocks
that had rolled down
into the path
during winter thaws,
we danced
like running
through pairs of
tires
at boot camp--
it had to be him,
it just had to be him,
'cause we
had hope
and faith was
rising at the
mouth of a cave
somewhere
at the edge
of heaven,
somewhere
at the edge
of reason,
somewhere
at the edge
of imagination,
was a
glimmer
of knowing.

13 Mar 03


© Copyright 2003, E. Granger-Happ, All Rights Reserved.

Contents - Lent, 2003




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