For
Helen
The
child of survivors spoke of the softness
Breaking
forth from the bark,
Pushing
its way from the cold comatose tree,
How
it sprung,
green,
then white,
climaxing
in stunning pinks and purples.
As
we carpooled to work she pointed
to
the trees that lined the road,
“this
is my floral escape tunnel,”
she
said, as she put her foot on the gas.
