Archeology of Hope
Last night it struck me
after the first day warm enough for bare feet
and the swingset skeleton erected in the yard
after the snow melt revealing the remains of
our ancient civilization:
plastic gardening tools
a pink baseball bat
a carrot (this is the carrot
that was his nose)
stones tumbled
where once they marched straight
after the hens rejoiced
pecking through the green and muck
after the ice skating rink became a river
and the newly planted pines
bowed to the wind
after this archeology of hope
reminded me that another world existed
it struck me
that we’d have to die again
next year.
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1 comment:
Not die my dear, just rest in our latent remembrance of why there is "winter" the pregnant season before the rebirth! Rejoice in the majesty of cycles! <3
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