Easter Day

On Easter Day,

I was speaking with my parents

And my father brings up a few memories of when I was younger.

The first memory was a time when my parents paid someone to do work on our front yard.

He mentions how I watched the man from afar

As he trimmed the trees and assorted the rocks along the house.

Once he was finished, my father told me that I went up to him and asked him to give the man a tip.

And he did.

He gave the man the rest of the money for an already expensive job

And sent him on his way.

The second memory was during spring.

My neighbor is known for housing several rabbits.

One day, our boxer chased a rabbit and attacked him.

My father recalls that I ran to the bunny and 

“Prayed” over the bunny.

Then, once our boxer was out of sight

The bunny got up and ran away.

Do I remember these memories?


Or at least not in that way.

I find that

Underneath my protective, horrifying exterior,

There’s just a sweet girl,

Wanting and arching for good in the world

And herself.