Easter Sunday with my Daughters


Let love come again
and the songs fly home
from their distant migrations.

Let hope and hopelessness
dance together
in the shadow of the full moon.

May the music come into our hearts
and voices
and may the dances of my youth
return to me
now that I am neither young nor old.

I am coming of age with my daughters,
tender and eager,
the wind and the lake,
each of us finding ourselves
standing in sudden sunlight
and equally sudden rain.

One trillium flower,
star of the earth,
blooms in the heart of the forest
where we walked together ten years ago.

Each of us fades as we bloom
and blooms as we fade
and both the blooming
and the fading
are beautiful.

Lorna Kohler
14 April 1998




If I were a mouse
in the talons of owl
would purple soft
as my own brown fur
lift me out of my body
thank me for my sacrifice
and sing my spirit awake?

Rooted and dancing
the iris listens
answers yes
all of this is true.

Purple is the place
where fire and water
meet face to face
pouring out of earth
into bud unfurled
shimmering now
in pale sunshine
and rippling wind.

Lorna Kohler
14 April 2014