Bones on Easter Morning (Terza Rima)

we found the bones in the pasture
near the fox’s den, made from an uprooted tree
I kept wondering if I’d find with it some ivory antlers

we tried to dye the bones as we thought ourselves “artsy”
before we dyed Easter eggs for the annual hunt
to win the golden egg- a gleaming bottle of brandy

the weatherman insisted we’d get a cold front
that it would be raining buckets all weekend
springtime (or the weatherman) was (really) pulling a stunt

nobody had dyed a single egg in years, but to pretend
to be young and innocent had brought many smiles
the joy in their eyes from chocolate bunnies again

Mama was cooking up our favorites, she hadn't done that in awhile
while Dad was shining silverware until he saw his reflection,
the utensils methodically placed into three piles

Easter--for some the time of spring and chocolate, for others His Resurrection
finding those bones on Easter morning made me contemplative
and yet my conscience had objection

they say hot cross buns are for protection. I think it’s all relative
as I choked on those withered raisins—
the gift of ethnic foods made my stomach sensitive.

at Mass we hear that He died for our sins
glancing over, I saw a friend’s mind begin to drift
(thinking of anywhere he’d rather of been)

in my mind there was a rift—
between what I always knew and what I did not know
and in that shellacked oak pew I began to shift

the older I get, the more the doubt begins to grow
in me, but in such simple moments, I regress
back to believing-- be it the Easter bunny or Jesus, and go

between the two extremes (if they were extremes) and I guess
both really serve the same purpose—more or less.