When spring came I came alive again.
The air was finally gentle
and I breathed deeply of sweet
lilac and hyacinth and some faint
scent I couldn’t find or name.
It wafted through the house
like light, forgotten in our long
winter of darkness. The plums
and cherry trees around the block
were laced with flowerlets
and tiny leaves and made a subtle
dazzling of hope. Not a forgetting
but a softening, as if the harsh
outlines of loss were growing
over now with something like the tender
grass of spring, its blades a clear
luminous green, a color from childhood,
from a time before grief and its
terrible healing makes traitors of us all.