Peacocks for eternity

       The world once knew once that peacock flesh would not decay. Death could hardly touch something so beautiful. Because of this, the peacock is a symbol of the resurrection, of eternal life. A thousand eyes watching God forever. Peacocks are good luck. I once saw one standing beside the on-ramp of I-84, watching the road I followed. His tail barely seemed cumbersome, despite it’s size, he carried it well, and I could almost feel the bad luck running south away from those eyes.

At Easter, I made the drive down to the Polish parish, to have my food blessed. My basket full of food, vodka and feathers. A woman asked it I came from Krakow. “They like peacock feathers in Krakow.” She said. We talked about reclaiming our traditions, what everyone talks about these days. We are looking for traditions to embrace. She married into her Polish culture, but her accent was beautiful, and her basket was full of good things. I think my husband has done the same. He’s taken root in a house with vodkas on the shelf and pierogi on the table. Now he knows where to tuck the straw at Vilia, and he knows when I should begin to steep the krupnik. With amber and saints all around us, we don’t need peacocks for direction, just for luck, and to remind us again that beauty is eternal.