Ice Flowers and Resurrections
Snow covers the town.
Strange still for this southerner,
to see no ground for months on end.
But this is the place you chose
and it has served you well, a good place
to shed your skin, riddled and raw,
and learn to walk, to dance, anew.
Thirteen below and there are flowers in the quarry,
or at least their frozen remains,
crisp and cold, beauty frozen,
they will die in the thaw.
Each season brings new life,
transforms the expected,
and this one is no different.
Death brings life. Life consumes death.
Resurrection works best, it seems,
in new lands.
About this poem
It is hard to believe I have been in Vermont almost 12 years. So different from Virginia. I had no idea when I came here, the growth, healing and joy I needed, and I would find.
The picture was taken in the quarry across the road from my house.
Recently, the poems I have actually written have been completely different from the ones I set out to write. I have no idea what that means.