Jennifer Eddy

From the wet slicked-back grass of spring

Flattened by these many months of winter

Which even now have not completely left us

Hope gleams forth

From what once was snow,

Before sublimation

And passing traffic turned it coarse and dark.

Hope is the thing that splints

Our spirits from exhaustion—

Wildfires, contagion

Locusts:

The plagues

Of choking over-population—

Murmuring, Rest.

Your Prince will come.

Hope is just the thing,

The unrecognized yearning

A glimpse

Unexpected

Of the precious ring

You thought you’d lost forever

Last December

Glinting now in the dull grey grass.

Jennifer Eddy is a grateful member of The Poets of the Oak Lair and the Chippewa Valley Writers Guild.