42. I remember Easters

I remember Easters

when the sparkling paper

on the Easter egg

was the only complication.

When which ear of the bunny

do I eat first,

or what to do with

the too-curious cat

were the only questions.

There was no blood involved,

no pain-filled imaginations

of the cruelty of sacrifice,

no wonderings of lost days

or mid-day darkness.

Then wine and bread

became the wrappings

of Easter

and it wasn’t ‘fun’

anymore;

it

was

JOY.