An Easter Morn

It came peaking out of the clouds,
just a sliver of the sun, it was 6:41
bicycle wheels turned to get us there
on time,  after debate about cold, about rain
past the eyes seeking, musky scent,
speed forward, needing perhaps
 to witness the sun rise,
to ensure it would happen,
on this most peculiar of Sunday mornings
and it rose, there was shade,
there were clouds,
but we saw it, as I have seen it
many Easter's before,  we alone
were at the terminals, no trumpet
sound,  no carols sung, and yet there
was a rising, a resurrection,
like the cinnamon buns, like the
hot cross buns, like the croissants,
we walked among the sprouting
plants the buds not yet
fully present to all that is,
like me, not fully present to feeling
it all, not wanting to notice the
sorrow, the emptiness
only here in this moment
life

gloria fern April 12, 2020