Easter Sunday Poem

 

by Tammy Melody Gomez

According to my plan, I did indeed bike to Mama’s home on Easter Sunday / yesterday. We chatted from a distance, she at her front door, me on St. Augustine lawn. Our Easter Sunday family gathering in the year of COVID, without a table or a meal. From my daypack, I brought out an empty shell with cut paper filling: a hand-painted cascarón—confetti egg— and gently placed it one lone one on her porch and stepped away, I won’t mind if you leave it there or maybe just smash it with your shoe. Our hearts have been broken before when prison, money, or unsettled rifts have kept us from our holiday home. Today, by phone, Mama tells me that she forgot about it overnight but now the one lone cascarón is inside her house. “She’s cute,” Mama said. “It’s a she to me.” From the collection Together In A Sudden Strangeness: America's Poets Respond to the Pandemic, edited by Alice Quinn (Which just so happens to have a bicycle on the cover.)