My belly pressing damp earth
I fidget and angle my camera,
snapping several shots
as around me, Easter lilies tower.
Their slight, sweet fragrance carries me
to another decade...the sixties
where I, as a young tomboy,
with only male cousins, played here.
I smile at a memory of me
Tackled, prone on my back
playing football, pigskin clutched fiercely.
I fought to prove I was just as tough.
We played here in this field
beside my childhood home,
clumsy feet trampling the fragile lilies
as I fretted silently about hurting them.
I stopped, plucking a few to save
and plopped them in a makeshift vase,
someone’s abandoned tea glass.
Then, raced back to the game.
My center position called me,
yet each time I glanced their way
the Easter lilies cheered for me
from the back porch railing.
I was their savior, their hero
rescuing them from certain death.
They were my salvation~
a girlish link to things dainty and beautiful.
I return here to capture them now,
descendants of those delicate lilies
arising each year in Spring’s wakening
to remind me of the little girl I was.
Me and a couple of my cousins, Joey & Rusty, Easter 1965. We were just back from church and anxious to change clothes to go egg hunting and then play football ;-)
Rose S. Williams
The resurrection (or as we call them) Easter lilies bloom at Council every year, so I wrote this memory poem from when I was a little girl :)