I don’t post enough poetry. Last night we had an exercise in class called, ode to spring, and here is the poem that came from it.
A landscape of white desert
Nothing but howling of the wind
being torn by sleeping claws of trees
Each wooden stump a tombstone
engraved “2005 A devoted Mother”
But in this time of rest and death
the sun conspires with
the moon, the sky and stars
And with wiccan like chants
and native tribal dance
they splatter the ground with
a concoction of love
so powerful to wake the infinite slumber
And slowly from faded calling
she claws through the soil
With sweat and ache
her joints pop and muscles shake
Finally she peaks just one finger
above the ground
Above her white grave
And on the fingers tip a bud of pink.