Remembering Mom: Yellow, Spring

Is daffodils pushing
Through soft, yielding earth
To the soft opening of the blue sky
The forsythia, too,
Long arms reaching for sun and earth.
The promise of a long drink,
Brambles coming to life
With tender green leaves
Prickers ready to defend nascent fruit
From the bear of appetite
Laughter in the breeze
Green life freckling the soft, moist earth
Where you dare not step
Into the memory of winter
And the false starts of early spring.
Is the fading tan
Of ash leaves
Holding on yet
To all that was and is here
Waiting for the right moment
To release what was into what will be.
Those leaves from last year
Disintegrating under the weight of your footfall?
They are spring, too.


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