Easter blooms each morning.

A day does not pass, when it does not try to force its way up.

Up through yesterday’s soot.

Up, just taller than expected.

A medicine to salve the wounds.

“I’ll take one of these

and I’ll call you in the morning.”

Springing up without permission,

Without so much as a query toward my needs.

It recesses in the men given charge

to make sure it doesn’t happen.

It happens and it happens.

Night lights are set as reminders

that Easter blooms each morning.