First day of spring

Ruby bodies unfurling

stretching soft green leaves towards firs

What seems to be a knot in the belly of damp ground

is actually the birthing of spring apparent

The heir of last season’s rhubarb that pleaded to travel

in hand and belly

in pies and crisps and pickles

This yearly unfolding a reminder that every generation

comes from the earth

comes from the sun

comes from the one before

Moving the mulch aside with silent chlorophyll-ed wings

while we barely watch from across the garden

digging, pulling, planting

There is no beginning to see

No end to witness

when these seeds I carry eventually bloom back into earth

when tiny firs spring from under the nettles

when crimson arms of the rhubarb yawn into the season