Kami McArthur

Crisp morning air brushes over the park,
ruffling the grass, while children line up—
girls fidgeting with their dresses and frilled socks,
boys pulling at their pastel ties.
In unison, they race from the blacktop.

Some dash to the slide, the swing sets, the sand box.
Shoes left behind. Curled pigtails springing.
Wicker baskets sway from small hands, skinny arms,
as children skip, spin, and leap,
seeking hidden Easter eggs.

Pockets in the field where the treasures lay,
the grass pressed under them like nests.
Isaac crawls, green stains on knees,
and picks them up, one by one:
ruby red, sapphire blue, amethyst.
Emma finds a glittering opal,
the shell cool against her fingertips.

Vibrant eggs glisten in baskets,
Easter air ruffles my dress,
and from the blacktop, I see them gambol
like lambs, their fleece
glimmering gold.