Like a poor cousin

or a friend who can’t shut up

about a bitter divorce,

winter came early

and stayed late.

From November to May,

a month longer each way,

it came with its callused cold

and a long, lingering gray

that turned day into twilight

and night into a darkness

that you could feel.

We waited,

worked through the ashen shades

of beige and brown

and the pale shadows of summer

dead on the stems and blades.

We worked through

the brief teasings of spring—

those first tinges of green

along the banks and ditches

and buds swelling

with stubborn hope

at the ends of thin branches.

The wild plum

has come with its burst of white

against dark trunks

and the redbud has born

its boughs of lavender.

The Bradford pear

opposite the huge cottonwood

beside the driveway

yields its blooms

to the stirring wind:

all this earth’s good hope

bending toward Resurrection Day.

H. Arnett

4/15/11