Brunswick Book of Peace

Perennials


Each spring it happens, my stare
at the ground, dirt moving aside
for the push up, out and beyond
winter dark's frozen solid soil.

No one I know has said how
plants do it, the awakening,
how this life resurgence happens.
Somebody somewhere must know.

Knowledge wouldn't matter.
I'd still continue to stare
at the ground, at the green
shoots pushing up, out and beyond.

It's like how I can't fathom
that peace keeps pushing up through
war's grim fact of bullets, bombs,
smashed brains, hope, children's future.

My eyes fill. Contemplate.
Joy of the one.
Horror of the other.
Will only see peace burst into bloom.

Hannah Fox Trowbridge
Harpswell