Easter is the time of renewal, growth and hope. I post a poem about looking towards the future, but from the perspective of a future observer. I’ll leave you to decide if it is too sentimental!
with their line-dried crust of summer days
are pressed with sediments
of lavender dusk, like shale, into slate.
The best damask tablecloth,
darned and patched,
is aged to a subtle gold.
A young wife’s dreams,
faded from the wedding list shades,
are suddenly old.
Worn blankets fused
with shreds of thistledown and leaf,
make the strata of married years.
two embroidered pillowcases,
matched for lovers, still tissue-wrapped…
…and, here, between them
two rose buds,
red as kisses.