a poem for today

by Marie Howe:


Easter


Two of the fingers on his right hand
had been broken

so when he poured back into that hand it surprised
him - it hurt him at first.

And the whole body was too small. Imagine
the sky trying to fit into a tunnel carved into a hill.

He came into it two ways:
from the outside, as we step into a pair of pants.

And from the center - suddenly all at once.
Then he felt himself awake in the dark alone.