Hope Planted in the Soil of Grief

Children’s laughter
echoes Spring into
the window of my wintered heart.
Never quite thawed, never
shaking myself of the death that keeps my hands
cold.
I cannot bring to life that which I long for
I resurrect dreams until they are nightmares
and hold tight, until Edgar Allen Poe is not quite
so frightening.
Yet, I cannot spring to life that which I long for
Not quite a year since you were planted in
soil that would bear no fruit.
Yet I refuse a baron field
Death is filled with stubborn seeds of potential
I tend the garden of my grief
until Winter loosens its grip and I reap a good harvest of hope
that will warm my soul.