Last week, in the mail, I received a box. It was a birthday gift from my Dad and what I found inside was priceless. The first on-board to help me tell this story, he rounded up one of my old photo albums, and though they were tucked behind cellophane sheets, I could still feel the soft grainy texture. Anyone else missing photos you can hold in your hand? There’s just something about the textile nature of it, don’t you think?
I pointed to each photo remembering (mostly) who I was with, where we were, why we there, what we were doing. But there were two pictures I hadn’t remembered seeing. Perhaps because I wasn’t looking for them or simply took them for granted. One is a four-year-old me just out of surgery and the other is me in a wheelchair sitting by the bed. Contemplating.
Because my birthday is in April, most of my birthdays have had some sort of Easter theme – bunny cakes, egg hunts, Easter baskets, and pageants. We lived and breathed new life and rebirth.
Today is Palm Sunday, so of course, Easter is on my mind. And in the spirit of National Poetry Month, here’s a little something to get you ready for the week ahead.
The Promise in the Dash
I read a poem just today
Of life and death and some dismay
But between the lines, I read
Of a father’s love and those on ahead
And as I scanned the words
The nouns and the verbs
I’m reminded once again
Of a more resolute paper and pen
Carved deep in the stone
A beginning and an end
Between the two
‘Twas a simple little slash
But oh, what promise it held
That promise in the dash