I talked to my mom yesterday,
about not coming home for Easter.
She wasn’t very happy, but she understood.
The next morning, I found a box
on my front porch, full of Easter,
candy and a stuffed animal.
My usual Easter basket
this year, was cardboard.
I checked, and it was sent
by regular post.
It turns out mom knew all along.
I don’t know what hurt me more,
her knowing or her hurt yesterday.
At 21, I carried the small owl she sent
around with me for the next few days
like I had done multiple Easters before.