There was a chill in the church.
I put my hands in my coat pockets while the Easter sermon hummed along.
In an instant I was mentally and emotionally transported to another place.
Inside my right pocket was dirt.
I pulled it out as a lump grew in my throat.
My peach jacket had been cleaned after my mother’s funeral.
This was unexpected…
That day in February,
I had grabbed a handful of the dirt that buried my mother’s body
before the carpet of sod lie over the mound of her, now marked grave.
I released it in my pocket as the very very… very last morsel of the heavy moment.
The Easter sermon continued but my thoughts reminisced.
Tears flowed, and I tried to conceal them.
A different feeling came over me, then.
broke the bonds
of death and mortality.
and far away
absorbed tears of blood,
surrounded a wooden cross,
a burial tomb,
and a blessed garden where new life and hope
in my pocket;
An Easter gift–