From the chards of the chocolate Easter bunny and matzo crumbs come surrender.

The bunny was broken! Yet, he stood for sale in the window of Duane Reade with a noticeable gash. Maybe the store clerk didn’t notice that the confection had been maimed. It flew in the face of what we expect on Easter Day, this ancient rite of spring — garish hats decked with birds and flowers, perky marshmallow Peeps, and new pastel pumps. 

But then again, this was no normal holiday. Over the past months, humanity has been fleeing one another, only hoping to be spared from a modern-day plague. 

All at once, it hit me. Here was the perfect metaphor in a chain store window. It’s about me.I feel hollow and bruised like the boxed-in bunny. Frightened of slipping down the rabbit hole. My underpinnings have been torn away. I am fatigued from hoarding toilet paper and wee wee pads. Exhausted trying to figure out where this will all end.

All at once, the bunny spoke to me. “Yes, I am not perfect. I bring the parts of me that have been shattered and gutted to the full beauty of life’s experience. And so will you.” I stood dumbfounded on a painful Easter Day as I contemplated my broken humanity.