Families file in today,
their Sunday finest flexed
to mask their unfamiliar standing.
Seats are set aside
for them, their Easter influx
saddening as that is
as they settle
for anonymity annually.
As they entertain church
with this one-time attendance,
their obligatory service stands
to sway that of worship,
and, with so many seemingly satisfied
with entertaining the stranger on the cross,
one can just imagine His concoction
of joy and loss,
no less than that of a parent
whose progeny’s disparate visits
always come on the crest of neglect.
One can almost hear His voice,
with tones that connote
a greater anguish than the cross,
meekly breathed to each Easter attendant,
“I’d love to see you more often.”