Mulling it Over
Cinnamon, cardamom, almonds
and wasps, plump imported raisins, currants; Uncle’s aluminium pan. The sunlight is thinner and Maria who is Greek is fasting; orange peel floats in the dark pool of wine. I add sugar and schnapps, watch the liquid almost boil and ladle it into warm mugs. We breathe in the alcohol, swat at the wasps remember last Easter and the one before. We marvel at the yeasty buns suck the sticky glaze from our fingers and lift the pale crosses to our lips knowing that Pilate will wash his hands, Veronica will wash his face, a soldier will lance his side, and that he will chat to a couple of thieves just before he dies. But, it is the triumph of the empty tomb we most admire as we raise our hot mugs of wine in relief, glad. hot mugs of wine in relief, glad. |