Hope Salad

One early spring evening, I went out to see if any of my greens had overwintered under frost cloth. I picked enough spinach for our salad that night. This poem was handed to me from the creative ethers, all of a piece, at the same time.

Hope Salad

She waits for a telegraph from spring.

Pushes aside the wadding,

finds tiny leaves infused with the hardship of winter.

Plucks one leave at a time.

Only the willing are chosen.

Finds hope in the salad,

omens in the earth.

This is what hope tastes like to her:

sweet, generous, green.

8-1/2″ h x 8″ w

$320

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Yes, I want to live with it every day!