Easter
Suppose it’s petering to a drizzle
that follows. Sundayers slide to automobiles,
men, clutching tie then neck, heads
down, cardigan, pang, ladies pasteled
and curled, half-under pamphlets to ward water
Suppose today’s your first hearing grace
since you left, your mother
hums up something sugar and soft,
offers we take the long way back
Suppose you feel like adoring
the storefronts, dewy, sidewalks split, the pinkening
lanes of crabappled fists, dogwood, well before
our tupelo stand and flicker
Suppose it’s possible,
your forgiving
Sarah O. Oso is a first-generation daughter with Nigerian roots. Events including the AJC Decatur Book Festival, Poetry at Tech, Agnes Scott Writers’ Festival, and ArtsXchange have featured her work, which has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and appears in New Ohio Review and Watershed Review, among others.