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Easter story, Kilbirnie

Mary-Jane Duffy

 

Are you completely dead

or is part of you still alive

– like your inflatable brain

or your softening lungs? Or your

spleen so splendid in its isolation?

Or is it your digestive system digesting

what is truth and what is faecal?

Or your knees so achy and feeble

surely no means to spring upwards?

 

Yes upwards. You didn’t see that coming?

But now that you’re on the move,

is it a gentle rush or like having

Judy Jetson’s turbo pack on your back?

Do you clock Farmers’ lingerie display

or the odd ridged edge of the bus terminal

behind the Rita Angus Retirement Village

where you stood on the street

 

a minute ago? And the air looks

so clear up there. Do the mists

gather so that your head pops

like a champagne cork above the clouds?

And then – as the voice leading the meditation

says – is it slow blue, present blue,

eternal blue? But none of that really

matters. This is after all Your Ascension.

 

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