Snow Daffodils

Snow-crested blossoms, April is perhaps the cruelest month, as TS Eliot Once observed in his famous poem of the last century, in his epic about

Civilization crumbling — daffodils always give us hope, they spring up in Spite of snow, sleet, wind, and frost — teasing us to believe there will be

A reprieve from winter — sitting in O’Hare airport I think of all the other Times I’ve been stuck here, usually because of thunderstorms, but

Sometimes blizzards in winter too — or spring coming out of the blue, once In a blue moon — once I realized a pregnancy had taken one April

Snow day, on the plane back from New York to say good-bye to my Grandmother the smell of pizza made me nauseous and to say that I was

Happy beyond belief would not have been an understatement — how is it That hope, sorrow, joy, and disappointment can converge in one instant

Of the human condition — how is it that Dorothy Wordsworth perhaps Penned her brother’s words about these spring daffodils, these totems?

And here I sit, these many years later remembering my own strength Coming to surprise and awaken me out of many long, wondering winters.