An Agnostic’s Easter Morning

This morning, I stepped into our bedroom,

found a sweater, turned to the futon

where you still slept. Intending

some question of groceries or bills,

I was silenced by your slightly open lips

and shallow breaths. I crouched beside you,

watching a worn pillowcase thread lift and

shudder with each breath. Fine blond hairs

spread across your pale cheek, creating

an almost irresistable urge to brush them away.

I resisted for long moments, content

to watch you sleeping, and marvel at the

silent miracle. Knowing

that I could wake you with a touch or

whisper or tears — that you would

touch or grumble or comfort in return —

what spendor there was in that silent

knowledge! Eventually, I touched your

shoulder, asked my question, closed the

bedroom door behind me.


M.A. Mohanraj

April 7, 1996