Joy Returns
by Lori Smith
JOY RETURNS
Even the weeds wear dresses —
delicate indigo or sun-yellow —
the dandelion its fuzzy crown.
Which is to say nothing of
bright clouds of azalea,
dripping bluebells,
dewy phlox,
sidewalks awash in cherry-petal snow,
and the luminous violet glow
of the redbud (never red),
tiny orchid buds bursting unbidden
from rough branches.
Joy returns
whether or not we are ready.
As if the One who holds us
has breathed on us again.
And in my aching heart,
a tiny shoot of spring green,
like the new grass
the dog loves to eat
on our twilight walk
under the pale pastel sky.