Messiah

by Cindy M. Kelly

i.

On Sunday morning

Lydia sat in the grass

with her friend Eostre,

painting seven eggs.

"Why do people paint

eggs for you?" Lydia asked

Eostre. And Eostre said,

"That is a long story,

one I have not told

in a very long time."

Lydia nodded.

"We have all the time

in the world,"

she said.

Eostre flopped her ears

out of her eyes,

hopped close.

"This is why,"

Eostre whispered

like it was a secret.

"Long ago, when all rabbits

could talk, there was a time

of great mourning.

Our good friend Attis

was dead, was murdered.

A misunderstanding,

you see.

On this day, today,

but long long ago,

He was resurrected,

he smelled of pine

and of almonds

of old wood,

of the earth

and of good.

We threw a party,

and we danced

and feasted,

Attis spoke softly

to the crows,

the blackbirds,

the ravens,

the sparrows,

their friends.

And they laid eggs

like we never saw before,

like we never saw since,

with patterns and colors

and whimsy and wonder

and they were so pretty

other rabbits were speechless

and have been ever since."

She said it matter-of-factly,

shook her little bunny tail

and that was that.

ii.

One fine Sunday

The Boku went fishing,

wore his lucky galoshes,

just in case.

He was low

on magic, you see.

So he caught him a puffer

fish, a porcupine fish,

smashed their heads

with stones 'til they stopped

flopping around,

'til he was certain

they were dead.

He cut them up

in little stars,

dried them in the sun

on a big rock,

ground the stars

into powder,

mixed it in

pomegranate juice,

made a paste.

He rubbed it

onto Attis' skin,

on his dead eyelids

between his dead toes,

behind his ears,

on his elbows,

over his blue lips,

his cold hips,

and his eyebrows,

rubbed it in everywhere,

rubbed it in good.

He waited

seven days,

seven nights,

and when Attis rose

from the dead

and Boku said,

"Go forth now,

My son, and eat

their brains."

And he did,

and that was that.

iii

Lydia asked Eostre,

"But why do we paint

eggs for you?"

And Eostre said,

"Because I am the Goddess

of Making Things Grow

and I remember.

You paint them

that I might

favor you,

bless you

with many children.

For I like eggs

and pretty things.

You do it for me,

to make me happy.

"I'm done," Lydia said.

She put her brush down.

Eostre's nose twitched.

Lydia painted

all seven eggs black.