Easter Gobbled — A Poem
Not a peep!
Free write what a fright why do I find myself craving Christmas in March and spooky year-round? The egg holders my mom passed down gathered oily kitchen sediment and dust until one day they were packed away in an attic box. Not a peep.
In childhood, Easter meant tin boxes of jellybeans and a new dress. White shoes. Black jellybeans, assertive, were my favorite. The opaque, strange spearmint a close second. There was an egg hunt and dye for the hard-boiled, later to be deviled. Church was sandwiched in there somewhere. How I loved the sweet treats in plastic eggs, the huge tin of jelly beans. Not a peep.
I loved the creepy Bunnicula books. The Easter Rabbit was odd. No, I did not want to sit on his lap. I liked the happy twinkle of laughter Easter Sunday and the sweet sentiments of childhood I gobbled up. Church didn’t interest me. Not a peep.
Aimée Brown Gramblin is practically a superspy because that’s basically what writers are, right? She dabbles in nonfiction articles, emits poetry, and lives her life as a WIP memoirist. She sometimes dabbles in pop culture musings.
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