She stands in snow,

toes encouraging

new green

growth.

Dash or linger —

she is undecided,

and casts

a glance

over her shoulder.

The lion’s roar is

caught

in her hair.

In one hand she holds

a small suitcase;

in the other,

a bouquet of feral

blooms.

We hold our breath —

She bends to open,

at last, the case;

and releases

Vernal

light.

 

— C.Birde, 3/17