Easter
(To Eleonora)
By Tatiana Pahlen

Every time around Easter,  
When eggs are colored with motley shades,  
my memory goes to my dazzling sister 
Years back to our juvenile, joyful days. 
 
The smell of pastry in the oven 
Mixed with fumes of roasted lamb . . .  
Fixing an Easter feast like a maven,  
she challenged my paltry cooking attempt. 
 
I miss her whispers before bedtime — 
two heads together – ear to ear;  
we chased from the closets hiding phantoms,  
Shared small secrets and big dreams. 
 
Now, in church, prior to Easter Sunday,  
Hearing the bells at the midnight stand,  
in heart, I'm still with my dear sister,  
praying with her in a foreign land.

April 30, 2005

© 2005 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.