← All poemseaster tells you
that it is possible
to become a new creation.
i stood in a field in epping
wearing my grandmother's apron,
the one in light pastels
she wore to make bread,
and the wind came through the blossoms
and i did not ask it to heal me
but it did.
the sunshine kissed my cheeks
and i, who had packed my life
into a suitcase three times —
once for new york,
once for london,
once for home —
i stood still
for the first time
and let the light find me.
to pray for all that are suffering
but to hold suffering and joy
at the same time —
this is what the cocoon knows,
this is what the field
has always known:
that the dark is not the end.
it is the womb. it is the mend.
seek beauty, i told myself.
nourish the moment.
see what is blooming
even now, even here,
even in the year
that tried to break you.
the cherry blossoms did not ask
permission to return.
the butterfly did not earn
its wings. it only trusted
the strange darkness
and then pushed through.
and i,
the girl with three names
who crossed three thresholds
and said each time: again —
i know now what easter means.
not the end of sorrow.
not the reward for being brave.
but this: that living things bloom.
that even from the grave
of what you were,
something tender lifts its face
toward the sun.
easter tells you
that it is possible
to become a new creation.
and i bloom forth.
forever. 
Easter Tells You