It's the night before Easter

And all through the house

Not a single egg is being hidden.

Though the holiday is close.

It's odd, how tradition disappears

When a family is confronted

With financial fears.

Money seems to make

The world go 'round

To some.

Like my father.

We aren't even really

That poor, but

He insists that we save

Every penny.

I suppose it's for the better

In the end.

But still...the house seems

Stagnant.

I grew up with the home

Transforming as the year

Slipped by

With every holiday

But now I fear

That the loss of my father's job

Has frozen the home

To be covered in the dust and loam

Always waiting

For those children

To come stomping

                        Down

                                    The

                                                Stairs,

Baskets in hand

Searching

Over

and

Under

In Front of and Behind

Snatching eggs from

A sibling's basket

                                                As they search elsewhere

The house isn't _really_ decorated

That time of year

But everything feels hidden

Holding a secret

Like M&Ms or snickers

Or maybe the Grand Chocolate Bunny

Or maybe opening presents

At the end of the year

Scattering

                                    The Paper

            Every

                                                            Which

                        Way

And sqeeeeeeeealing in delight

As they uncover

Some Lego set or Power Ranger

(My parents never really let me

Grow up with video games)

The house is covered in

Red and green that time

Not on the outside

(We're too far from the road

To display lights outside)

But inside...inside

It feels like a natural Christmas

With pine needle garland

And red felt bows

And a tree that rivals

(at least as far as these little kids are concerned)

The Big One in New York.

But none of that now.

Nothing

Nada

Zilch.

No celebration

No recognition

Hardly even the religious

Translation of the holiday

Make it through the

Oppressive

Frugality

That holds the house

In the folds of time.

But a penny saved

Is a penny earned

Should I be thankful?