Meg Sefton's Blog, page 53

Father

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home sweet home by odysseia, flickr

In my dark apartment, you are not administering the body and blood, I am not hearing the last words of Jesus to his disciples, I am not touching your robe, I am not climbing the pulpit to read the Bible, I am not holding your hand on the way home.

Dreams

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snowy night by petalouda62, flickr

In a city wracked by contagion I fall asleep in a dark apartment shuttered against the angel of death. My dreams are of you as a child. I am you in my dreams though in life you are my mother. When I wake, I am finally capable of love.

Songs

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Photo by Tina Witherspoon on Unsplash

What songs do you sing to yourself when you are alone? Do you sing of God’s idea of you? Do you sing of dreams of a planet redeemed by animals? Do you sing of the earth’s darkest heart? Are you a troubadour? Will you make something new with your mouth?

Darkness

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Photo by Jesse van Vliet on Unsplash

In Alabama, in the darkness of her car, now a sinking vessel, a mother thinks of her child, excited for Easter, only a few hours before the tornado. An angel is with this mother now. He goes into the water first, his head submerging, so she will not be afraid.

Tomb

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Morning stroll 31 by Jorah Mormont, flickr

Jesus Land in Orlando had to deal with their Bible college actors slut shaming Mary Magdalene at the tomb reenactment. The casting had been a bit on the nose: An exotic dancer from Orange Blossom Trail. The park would stand behind their decision, maybe put the spoiled brats in concessions.

Believe

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winged child by Beth Scupham, flickr

“Do you believe, little Meggie?” said Uncle Willie once at Aunt Pat’s where we sitting on the back porch having stolen some of Maimie’s famous chocolate pie.

I knew what he meant: Jesus, the resurrection. “Yes, I believe.”

Uncle Willie had fought in Vietnam.

“Then I believe too.”

Easter

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Inside mini by Michael, flickr

I had a dream Easter Eve. I was riding shotgun in  a Mini being driven by a Cheeto. He was talking in an airy voice, telling stories and baby rhymes. I was nodding in and out of consciousness. With his little round circle mouth he offered ineffectual assurances.

Service

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Saint Catherine’s Methodist Church near Bushnell, Florida by Dan Tantrum, flickr

The children had an Easter service for the ghosts. I put a glass of water in a nook in the pulpit for Father who had been the preacher. Then I sat down in the row with the others. We were quiet until someone started singing “All things bright and beautiful.”

Hide

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The Easter Visitor by Lisa Zins, flickr

Through the crack in the closet doors, the Easter bunny beckons children to hide, hide from the shouting, the beating, the smashing glass. He smells of booze and an old costume, like the mildew of the porch sofa. He holds them close and presses in their hands melted chocolates.

Eggs

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The Witches are Restless, Old Castle Brewery, Cape Town by mallix, flickr

Eastertime, she travels the roads on her bicycle, the tall ruff of her cape framing her mound of cotton candy hair. When she smiles her teeth are spears. They say she poisoned her husband. They say she ate her children. She gives out chocolate eggs filled with glass.