The Gray Sky Weeps Pink Blossoms
Betsy Holleman Burke
We dreamed of these flowers this hard winter
wondered if they would return again.
Then, a miracle. They burst forth lush,
more beautiful than ever, the neighbors say.
First the swelling on a woody branch,
then a touch of blush, tiny lime green leaves,
fat buds with pink points become bright flowers
overnight. An elegant quilt, cotton candy color.
Each flower, five rounded petals, a bristly center
of tiny brushes painting the sky. The gnarled trunks,
reminiscent of Cambodian temple trees, sprout
bouquets spiraling upward from every crevice.
Graceful boughs snake across lawns, survive rot,
wind, blizzards. They stand guard over our homes,
fill our windows with beauty. Time stands still
as we move outside, shake off the ache of winter,
walk under pink canopies, ride bikes, sell lemonade,
creep in traffic, wallow in this gift of nature, knowing
we have only a short time to appreciate and enjoy.
We pray for cool weather, instead feel summer heat.
Petals swirl around, create a spring snow storm.
The fallen blossoms color the grass, the streets
a vivid rose, confetti for children to toss over
one another, practice for a spring wedding.