pantoum's Diaryland Diary

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EASTER

So, yeah, this is Easter weekend.

I don't believe in Heaven or Hell as actual places—even Milton knew Hell was a concept, seems like—and believe that Jesus is a concept rather than a man who walked and talked among us, so a traditional Christian Easter service centered around dragging a cross through the streets and rolling de stone away (greatgawdamighty) and dying for my sins because I am bad, bad, bad and should be flogged—or maybe spanked?—is lost on me.

I did consider renting Jesus of Montreal tonight though, at least until I remembered how much good basketball will be played tonight.

Christian services aside, I do like symbols and rituals, however, and understand their importance, and particularly like the idea of formally recognizing the transition from a cold and frozen landscape into a world awash with new growth and possibilities..

Buzzcut pointed out an Easter ritual I had never heard of before—an Episcopal ritual that recognizes that our world lost Gawd for a spell.

How wise to formally recognize an event that must be very disorienting to Christians (plus, I can't help but think this needs to appear in a poem).

I have numerous pictures of Baby Bird in Easter outfits that match the ones my older sister is wearing.

There we are in our scratchy white underwear with lace on the butt, our lacy white socks and patent-leather shoes—and, one year, a little yellow dress with a green cape and matching hat. And there, no doubt, are my banged-up knees that long to be wrapped around a tree branch instead of hanging out with me in those femme clothes.

For years, I plucked a dogwood pedal off a tree every Easter and stuck it in my Bible. They're so beautiful now. Fragile.

And now I really have to get back to this manuscript, even though I'd rather keep writing. My next break will be for a walk, if the rain holds off—but I'll sign off with an Easter poem that I particularly like.

Easter Sunday, 1985
by Charles Martin

To take steps toward the reappearance alive of the disappeared is a subversive act, and measures will be adopted to deal with it.—General Oscar Mejia Victores, president of Guatemala

In the palace of the President this morning,
the general is gripped by the suspicion
that those who were disappeared will be returning
in a subversive act of resurrection.

Why do you worry? The disappeared can never
be brought back from wherever they were taken;
the age of miracles is gone forever;
these are not sleeping, nor will they awaken.

And if some tell you Christ once reappeared
alive, one Easter morning, that he was seen—
give them the lie, for who today can find him?

He is perhaps with those who were disappeared,
broken and killed, flung into some ravine
with his arms safely wired up behind him.

1:17 p.m. - 2005-03-25

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