Passover
I wake to
a morning white and clean,
as one of
the first born spared,
even though
we forgot to stain
the
lintel and door posts red again.
Beneath, grass
struggles to cast off
winter’s spell.
Seeds planted in faith
make ready to
sprout new green,
no track to show where
the doe had been.
Tomorrow this
snow will all be gone.
The sun
will chart his path another degree
farther north. Time to rejoice, to raise
my voice once
more in grateful praise
to him for whose deliverance
I have no way to recompense.
—Donnell
Hunter
7
April 2012
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