Daughter’s First Spring
by Rosa Gilbert
DAUGHTER’S FIRST SPRING
Blades of grass
curl up like vines around her toes.
Tiny hands
brush and brush, unsure.
She’s only known withering hues.
Now a spring waltz,
the symphony to which
her caution and curiosity dance.
She pulls on the first strand
and it falls prey to her tug.
Before long
a fistful of green yarn.
A victory flag!
Waving over winter’s cruel grip,
over its final breath,
over death.
Poking through the cracks
between her fingers
like a whisper:
of rebirth,
of sprouting earth,
of resurrected soil.
Touching grass freshly grown,
holding on to life.
I pray she never lets it go.