This Poem was Submitted By: Molly Johnson On Date: 2002-03-14 23:01:22 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Early Flowers

They yield to yards of white that might be full of air between clean crystals. You can breathe  through snow if you draw slowly  and don’t call back the exhale. But my crocus don’t breathe under the late winter. They fall slick and soak  the ground with their green. What spring flash will pull  water up stems to tighten cells back  into boxes full of fresh? What cure of sun might choke winter until heat breezes have broken the depression of snow?

Copyright © March 2002 Molly Johnson


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