Protestant Easter eight years old

When he was a little boy

Jesus was good all the time.

No wonder that he grew up to be such a big shot who could forgive people so much.

When he died everyone was mean.

Later on he rose when no one else was looking.

Either he was hiding or else he went up.

Maybe he was only hiding? Maybe he could fly?

Yesterday I found a purple crocus blowing its way out of the snow.

It was all alone.

It was getting its work done.

Maybe Jesus was only getting his work done and letting God blow him off the Cross and maybe he was afraid for a minute so he hid under the big stones.

He was smart to go to sleep up there even though his mother got so sad and let them put him in a cave.

I sat in a tunnel when I was five.

That tunnel, my mother said, went straight into the big river and so I never went again.

Maybe Jesus knew my tunnel and crawled right through to the river so he could wash all the blood off.

Maybe he only meant to get clean and then come back again?

Don't tell me that he went up in smoke like Daddy's cigar!

He didn't blow out like a match!

It is special being here at Easter with the Cross they built like a capital T.

The ceiling is an upside-down rowboat.

I usually count its ribs.

Maybe he was drowning?

Or maybe we are all upside down?

I can see the face of a mouse inside of all that stained-glass window.

Well, it could be a mouse!

Once I thought the Bunny Rabbit was special and I hunted for eggs.

That's when I was seven.

I'm grownup now. Now it's really Jesus.

I just have to get Him straight And right now.

Who are we anyhow?

What do we belong to?

I think that he rose but I'm not quite sure and they don't really say singing their Alleluia in the churchy way.

Jesus was on that Cross.

After that they pounded nails into his hands.

After that, well, after that, everyone wore hats and then there was a big stone rolled away and then almost everyone — the ones who sit up straight — looked at the ceiling.

Alleluia they sing. They don't know.

They don't care if he was hiding or flying.

Well, it doesn't matter how he got there.

It matters where he was going.

The important thing for me is that I'm wearing white gloves.

I always sit straight.

I keep on looking at the ceiling.

And about Jesus, they couldn't be sure of it, not so sure of it anyhow, so they decided to become Protestants.

Those are the people that sing when they aren't quite sure.

Spring

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