this week’s spring
shy crocuses
crowing red buds

A March neighborhood
ruled by
cardinals and robins

daffodils fading
purple periwinkles
in the wait

in the pantry
canned black eyed peas and greens
for when the new year needs protection

Sunday morning interstate
dead deer on roadside
mark Saturday night

midwinter sunrise
owls roosters
woodpeckers

My father was born
the day before the solstice
on the darkest night

A decade gone now
or near about, I still weep:
await the light

Through my front window
the first camellia blossom
a surprise joy

There are shatterproof
ornaments now
and trees that need no water.

We can box up
our entire Christmas and store,
along with unused wrapping paper,
yellowed love letters–
in plastic containers.

Not like before, when every year a favorite glass ball
shook loose from a dried out Douglas fir,
splintered.
Holidays were more fragile,
hearts shattered.