by nan lundeen
The weather’s unsettled on Easter Eve
like a restless cow about to calve,
the land licked clean by heady winds.
By early evening
sleet takes the land
collects on branches
slicks old snow
burdens old limbs—
conquered
they conjure thunderous cracks
like mindless destruction.
Lights flicker off
a match flares
a kerosene lantern
a smoke-smeared chimney.
The dark kitchen presses
in on Mother, Daddy, and me
huddled in a puddle of light
over eggs, the tang of vinegar
in cups of
rose
blue
yellow
green.
One by one
we balance them
on spoons,
lift them into the night.