It rained last night,
Soaking the flowery banners,
Moistening the bunny
Decorations and the eggs.
The wreckage of the trees are still about
Testimony to last week’s snowstorm.
Dead lights are still up on some houses
As are stray desiccated bits of evergreen boughs,
Relics of Christmas that we can’t be bothered
To put away.
It should come as a cannon shot,
A startling reveille announcing
Night is over.
Instead, we get hide and seek
Wonder, terror, questions
Misplaced gardeners, and sleeping soldiers.
We had hoped he would be the one
To redeem Israel.
We are left with a tomb without a body
A world that lopes along,
More or less as before,
Tired, weary. Groaning with expectation.
You do not do things as we would do them.
Where we would shout,
You whisper and giggle like a child
Hiding to be found.
All that energy relentlessly running,
Seeking the cracks where it may burst forth
Past fractured trees, dead lights, and sodden, wilted decorations,
Exploding at once in the sound of our name.