Easter Saturday

It was fun for me because
we could talk — it was a long walk to St. Joseph's church
in the deep snow. Even the wind fierce enough
to blow it into our already freezing faces . . .
my own well protected by someone's arm

. . . and because
it was neat holding the hand of my brother
or sister, dragging my feet and making traces
of one kind or another — doing no harm

They would remember
no hats, and no gloves if they were
left back in the yard beside a new snowman,
and long-underwear legs and shoes lined with newspaper
for warmth

I remember

Reaching St. Joseph's church, with its
steepletower, high up. And now it is gone.
I don't remember its chiming but the huge bell,
cracked, now sits on the lawn

Into the church, we stumbled and piled
and inside the little curtained room
each of us confessed and was blessed
by the priest . . . "bless you, child"

My brothers and sisters
would remember
returning home blues:

My father:
"Come on now, where're your shoes,
line them up, get them
polished for tomorrow, Mass at 9
find your catechisms, rosaries? — here, borrow mine"

And my mother,
Exhausted, with all of her cares
ironing 4 or 5, or 6 white shirts,
hanging them on the backs of chairs
"Lily — find your locket"
freshly ironed white handkerchiefs
"here, put this in your pocket"