Spring 2007

April winds caress the buds on my peach tree,
tiny mint leaves are sprouting.
In the corner of the yard
sits Kuan Yin, surrounded by rainbow crystals.
Kuan Yin, Mary, Miriam,
harbingers of spring,
peacemakers among the wild winds
and blowing dust.

Kate's son is in Iraq this spring,
making friends with the dust storms,
carrying off the dead limbs of soldiers,
delivering a baby for an Iraqi woman--
life forcing its way
among dust storms, shattered limbs,
bombed out buildings.

The bodies of thirty three students
from the beautiful Blue Ridge mountains
now buried in the same soil
that holds my roses and lilacs.

Soon I will plant lavender under the window,
a blanket of soft purple.
Yellow sunflowers will cover the medicine wheel
and new prayer flags now adorn Kuan Yin.
My garden will be a sacred place
that will help to heal the tears
that lie beneath this earth.



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