Easter

It would surprise me if the rapture
happened at sunrise on Resurrection Sunday.
Jesus, with all his miracles has already
done the sunrise coming back thing.
He’ll choose some other time.

At least that’s what I think.

But still, we gathered at sunrise
in our pastel, Easter glory
waiting for him to return.
The adults with dry, heavy eyes
and the little boys with chocolates hidden
in their suit pockets and the little girls carrying
their special patent leather handbags
filled with brightly colored treats and lip gloss.
The crinkle of colored foil,
slowly being unwrapped as they tried,
and failed, to be quiet while they
sat in the pews sneaking a snack.

He didn’t come back this year at sunrise
and I wasn’t surprised.
The lure of the county’s finest cooks
bringing their best breakfast dishes
didn’t attract him the last thirty years.
Why would it work this year?

Maybe we should try something else
to hasten his return.

I don’t know what would work,
but loving your neighbor and carrying on his
work of taking care of the people on the fringe
sounds like a good place to start.