Mailman Dante just came, so there IS mail on Easter Weekend. I sent a YES I CAN card to Imani and her dad Robert, also a get well card to Nancy across the street who broke her elbow. And to Margie who helps me with my writing. This is for short story dot net. I am drinking my Pacific Bone Broth with Collagen in my WTF cup I ordered on Amazon. Do things taste better in the cup? Sure.

Wrote two Easter poems I'd like to share with you. I blogged em.

YOUR BLACKNESS

Scott and I order groceries on INSTACART

We just discovered this service for lazy bones like us

Right on time, between 11:30 and noon, a car arrives

in front of my house, how excited I am for my fresh

groceries and the man who will tote it to my house

Daffodils are displayed on my front porch in a glass

jar that once belonged to my dead mother

Why not celebrate the renewal of our land

at Easter time?

Howl go the winds

Monsieur, the Black Man

arrives from his hearse-like dark car

One arm is exposed

Black like chocolate cake

Black like a Woolworth countertop

Black so a master could whip him

and make him bleed

What shall I eat first?

Tiny Dove Chocolate Bites

no bigger than a quarter

We gave him a big gratuity

but the welts on his back

still show and some day

he's gotta explain all this

George Floyd and Trayvon Martin

and Brionna Taylor brutality

to his handsome children and

pray they don't die alone.

...

EASTER SUNRISE SERVICE

Back in Austin, we brought our smooth plastic chairs

lined up on one of the hills

reminiscent of Golgotha

settled ourselves as we looked around at who had come

that nice lady Ruth White, a friend of Granny's,

and Eddie, of course, Granny's special pal,

Uncle David with an Astros cap, he stood up

to get a better view

and then the preacher got out of a black Buick

with the portholes and with his cane, limped to

the makeshift podium, looked behind him at the

rainbow colored sky and in a voice strong as

Pavarotti pronounced

CHRIST HAS RISEN.

I have always been interested in Christ, The Trinity, Buddha, and Judaism. I call myself "a proud Jew" and have a mezuzah hanging on the doorpost of my front door. The late Bill Carr, who died of Alz disease, hung it up for me.

Lemme take anudder sip of Bone Broth while it is still hot.

Will not dilute it, in case it really does help our collagen.

Let's visit my living room, which I cleaned up yesterday when Sarah Lynn was home for our tenth Kidneyversity.

She wrote me this morning that I was being ultra-conservative in not being with more people. Does that mean I can visit, uh, The Giant Supermarket and buy something hot and sassy from Starbucks?

I have a still strong TV tray from my neighbor, a woman with manic-depression who refused to take medication. I bought all four of her trays.

She and her husband Ken moved to an assisted living home. She was very spry. Their names are still in my long green address book, carefully preserved on the floor in my upstairs office, where I am typing now.

Sarah bought me the most magnificent greeting cards I have ever seen. One cost $8 and I put two stamps on it and sent it off.

You know, of course, that most things in my house had once belonged to other people.

Kitchen table to Dan and Nicole, and before that, to Nicole's brother Sean and his wife. Both actors, they moved to the state of Maine.

My short story FOOTSTEPS, which I renamed, A SHADOW ON THE WALL, was fairly well received. Premise was a home intruder who attempts to kill the home owner. I did think of allowing the owner to die, but then thought better of the idea.

Do heroes die in stories?

Will work on my memoirs later today. Gotta do some reading, first. African-American Christmas Stories by Bettye Collier-Thomas are excellent. These poor children were so poor they received no Christmas presents at all. And they were filthy as their parents could not afford hot water for baths. The library book came all the way from the Pottstown Public Library.

How I'd love to hold a child on my lap and read it to them. As I once did to Sarah and Dan. One more sip of BONE BROTH and I publish this story.

Oh? You want a poem?

The words BONE BROTH must be sung and then you may continue.

BONE BROTH

The TV shows drive you mad about the value of this soup

Turns out it is expensive

Ten dollars for one of those

Tall plastic packages

As unappetizing as

A badger sitting on his hind legs

At our Compost Heap.

What the heck!

We're only here once

On this crumbling earth

Sailing into the sea

Or Dante's Inferno

So I shall rise

Triumphantly with my new

Face and stalwart body

Or else go the way of

The abyss.