This morning, flowers cracked open
the earth’s brown shell. Spring
leaves spilled everywhere
though winter’s stern hand
could come down again at any moment
to break the delicate yolk
of a new bloom.

The crocus don’t see this as they chatter
beneath a cheerful petal of spring sky.
They ignore the air’s brisk arm
as they peer at their fresh stems, step
on the leftover fragments
of old leaves.

When the night wind twists them to pieces,
they will die like this: laughing,
tossing their brilliant heads
in the bitter air.

©2007, Christine Klocek-Lim

Christine Klocek-Lim’s work has appeared in Nimrod, The Pedestal Magazine, Lily, The Quarterly Journal of Ideology and elsewhere. In 2006, her poetry was selected as a finalist for Nimrod’s Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry. Her Web site is November Sky. Two of her poems appear in our other seasonal anthologies: “Cicadas” is in the summer collection, and “Strange Violet Behind Trees” is in the autumn collection.

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