Poets' Practice Pad

Easter Egg

Shoved aside by the taller ones,
the tiny girl with the bruised shins
crouches under the stairwell
to hide herself like a secret message;
her eyes wish to simply see
the beauty of one second
resurrected inside
her cold Easter egg,
the only one she could find in the hunt.

The egg's colors throb into patterns,
a twirling medley of purples and blues,
that whisper promises;
stunned, her fingers tighten
and crack the soft shell,
making her wonder if
she could be anything
but human.

Salted with tears, she resolves
she won’t go about blaming herself
for the other eggs she missed
and the shell she shattered
while the world rose and fell,
moments jumping on
a green trampoline,
back and forth,
back and forth,
crushing years into one egg.