Today, this morning
for once, for all
the mall
and other tombs
stand empty.
Wind whistles through
happy
as a clam who just
gave his pearl
to the nicest girl
he knows.
Something grows
in the back-forty
asphalt meadow—
asphodels;
the wheels of our waiting
dreams aren’t driven here
to crush.
We’ve woken up.
We walk.
Look!
There’s Mary footing fast
like a teenage doe
past dormant shops
and foodcourts
crying “My Lord!
He’s up! He’s gone!”
Suddenly the sun
with first forth-flaring vim
quiets the humming lights,
dims the flashy sales;
from the sweating East
to the hungry West
there’s brilliant rest.
And jubilation!
All elevators rise,
the haughty merchandise
sings out praise
and the fake ficus trees
clap their silken hands.
The mall on Easter morning—
endless re-creation:
No Tax!
No Charge!
New Life!