April snow
by Heather Grace Stewart
[ poetry - april 08 ]
The evening news
left us sleepless
with images of protests
in the holy city, terrorist
bombings, drive-by shootings
in our own town.
Yet on Easter morning
we awoke to snow sheets on
a wishing-well roof,
unexpected purple buds
bursting through the frost,
a silver steeple glistening
against the cerulean sky,
and our little girl toddling outside
to find golden eggs in the snow;
barefoot on icing-sugar-steps,
laughing and dancing
with her sister-cousins.
Driving west at sunset,
morning snow a memory,
the returning geese
called out to us
like old friends,
leading us home.
