Easter Party

To my blessed boy who I worked with at a group home....

Handsome boy:

shirt too tight, adorning your resented flesh

your tummy that was full but always empty

like the house that never welcomed you back

after fists were thrown

words were said

fear of the unknown crept in and became the driving force that led you to me.

And you talk of grandma with love

your mouth is a basket of daisies with her name on your tongue and her grace spills out of you like petals in the spring wind

blowing back to that empty home

the empty words

the empty stomach.

Your shoes are used and worn

pulled, dusty and second hand, off of the bottom shelf

never a priority, tossed to the back of the closet, forgotten about, left alone by the previous owner.

But you sought them out first.

You knelt down

squinted eyes

outstretched arm.

And you reached for them, dear boy, and you gave them a home

you allowed them to walk this dreadful journey with you.

How I envy your socks, worn snugly against your secret soles.

And in those shoes, you walk into the chapel;

God is a foreign name but a promising treasure.

And you weep silently in the pew

tear drops fall onto your holy pants like chipped paint from an old shed.

Those pants.

Too f*****g short

revealing skinny ankles

weak

worn

ashen ankles.

A rotting stump holding up a dead tree

bit
by

bit

slowly dying

too tired to hold up the dry branches any longer

and you will crumble, handsome captain.

Your roots forever in the soil

stepped upon

deeper and deeper

into the earth where you were created

where this hell first began.

But oh, your Heaven

is here

with me

in this dark house that I once called your home.

And you run to me.

And you hold me.

And you bring

the light

the laugh

the garden

the music

the colors

the dance

the art

the earth

the child

back to life.

And here in our home we will have our Easter Party.

And I will resurrect you.