Easter Saturday

We have decamped to Honolulu for the week.  Too much rain, cold, and work were starting to take their respective tolls.  I haven't been away from home for Easter in years and it was odd to be on an airplane on Good Friday instead of in church.  Not complaining, mind you: we are very happy to be here, the timing just seems odd.  I have had to tell myself that today is Easter Saturday, after all.  The clearest reminder being the evidently homeless man who asked me if he could have my leftover rice from breakfast this morning.  "What you do to the least of these" came to mind as well as other verses that inevitably draw me back into Eastertide and elucidate the "all of it."
Anyhow, on the way to our digs, a favored poem about this day came to mind.  I post it here for you.
By Elizabeth Rooney, it's titled, "Easter Saturday."

A curiously empty day
As if the world's life
Had gone underground.
The April sun
Warming dry grass
Makes pale Spring promises
But nothing comes to pass.

Anger
Relaxes into despair
As we remember our helplessness,
Remember him hanging there.
We have purchased the spices
But they must wait for tomorrow
We shall keep today
For emptiness
And sorrow.

Gives me shivers every single time.
Happy Easter to you all.