Dear readers, today's entry is a poem - influenced by one that I initially penned for my mother Evangelia on the first Easter Sunday after her passing.
Vigil
Mama is that you —
hunched at the doorway,
tending the oil lamp,
awaiting the bridegroom.
Mama, is that you there,
with your simple comb of bone,
gathering my hair,
a refuge
for swifts and swallows?
Mama, is that you there,
cleaning the ground,
with a tear-stained cloth
wiping away years
of gathered sorrow.
Mama, is that you there,
lighting a candle —
a guiding star
for my eternal night?
Mama, is that you there,
pouring wine as if from Cana,
nourishing my heart?
And you, Mama
Is that you there,
softly chanting,
your prayers
like incense rising.
Mama, is that you there,
waiting,
for the resurrection,
and spring’s renewal.
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