Copyright 2009 by Nora Hall Burton
The first day of Spring and I celebrate
by clearing the dead branches…They lay
scattered in mute testimony.. Never the
gardener that you were I find the flower
beds that you built and planted while I
lay stretched out in the summer sun.
I laughed then when you told me that the
flowers would bring happiness to someone
even if you weren’t here and in a way
because of them you are still here.
I remember that day because you spoke
of the Spanish town of Guernica that
Hitler bombed…A town of 5,000 then
that was destroyed for no reason other
than a training run…I thought of the
children of that town and I pictured
a child of two with curly brown hair
standing at the window with
her mother pointing at the airplanes
as they flew overhead, as the bombs fell.
I wondered if any of the people of the town
had planted flowers
and if they bloomed after the
town had been destroyed.
With the flowerbed cleaned out
I saw in the spot that just a few
weeks before had been cold and
barren the first flower of spring,
smiling in triumph and dressed in
hope as bright as the sun.
The surrounding trees
raised their branches
like arms crossed in silent
celebration grateful for
Nora Hall Burton is a mother of seven and grandmother of two. She is a widow, having been married for 33 years. She teaches young children, and is currently enrolled in the Masters of Fine Arts – Creative Writing program at Murray State University in Kentucky.
Tags: grief, hope