the empty tomb and potato salad

on Easter morning

I stand

in the cold line

for my ham.

it wraps around the building.

a cop

with cones

and a lively flare

directs the parking.

there is little

small

talk as the line slowly

moves along,

no one dressed quite

warm enough.

we stare into

the window,

deciding on potato

salad,

or other sides,

with

families waiting at home.

all of it

feeling trivial

and having nothing to do

with an

empty tomb.