Christ sighting: Easter Monday

Christ comes, a knock on the door when I least
expect him. Espresso in hand I pop open
the screen door that sticks in every kind
of weather. Peace be with you, he breathes
as he brushes by, sniffing for toast,
an egg, some fish. We eat our breakfast
in the too-small nook, our four knees
touching beneath the table. We find
little to discuss, though lots has happened
over the last two thousand years,
disaster since he last appeared
become our daily bread. His lined
face says he knows what we don’t say.
I ask him if this time he plans to stay.