My father died some fifteen years ago.
Azaleas sang. The spring was at its height
With blowing petals everywhere, like snow;
Our sadness lost to dogwood, and the sight
Of everything in bloom spoke resurrection.
The color brooked no compromise with grief
And every spring I still see his reflection
When rhododendron shows its newing leaf.
Today I nearly stumbled on a crocus.
A single color, born of dirt and sun,
And heralding the season into focus,
Reminding me of all I haven't done,
And here and there, a love all unbegun.
A thank you to my father. From his son.
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Alysa Salzberg
Melissa Miles McCarter
Scarlett Sumac
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Matt Paust
Jowita Bydlowska
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Reminding me of all I haven't done,
And here and there, a love all unbegun.
Yes, Spring. Do you know April Inventory by Snodgrass?