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            Poems: Resurrection


The purple berries of Trilliums

would be most welcome in 

this ghostly gray cold.

Salt marsh dreams of rose mallows:

hairy stems gaily brushing your legs

in their scarlet way

coddle the frozen senses back to life.

Blue-eyed grass, star-like, borne atop

slender stems in moist meadows speaks

of open spaces we must seek

lest we leave our souls hibernate 

in winter.

Don't disdain the weak, reclining

stems of the common chickweed

whose flesh transforms

into a feast for songbirds.

Who would announce The Return

if chickweeds didn't make the sacrifice?

Along shaded roadsides and in rich woods,

keep eyes open for the Bloodroot; it knows

about the dark: clear white petals fold

in evening as even now,

on the verge of light, our hearts

are tight yet ready to yield.

Like the arbutus, scarce from careless picking,

hope appears before these bitter winds

get the better of us. Tough creepers,

evergreen leaves, urgently pollinated

by ravenous bees -- sting as sweet as wing's caress --

their spicy fragrance wafts free early enough

to wake the sleepers from winter's grave,

to live another day and taste in spring

(yes, it will come)

the violet-blue tonic of Fringed Gentian,

its vase-like self so difficult to cultivate,

so worth the wait.

Arlene Gay Levine


First published in Free Spirit Magazine

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