Another spring edges into existence
& for the first time ever, I can hear
music awakening all over soiled earth.
Snowdrops low ground cover rattling
canes, meltless drops’ pendulous heads
as frosty shields clang against sworded
leaves to protect inner castle bells
where a wee crew of spiders hang
from roped ends, swing out tolling.
As my eyes wander, lean in to listen
to purple played out as crocuses open
inside-out umbrellas, cupping wind,
striking as a kettle’s whistling,
as if it’s time for Irish tea. Clover
arrives in these here parts much later
say in May or April. Three-leafed
shamrock held up by a staff & I think
of St. Patrick’s dreamlike vision.
After saving himself, returned
to save from sin my ancestors.
God’s billowing clear-wind-voice sailed
him bishop of Ireland. This March
offers tulips’ chalice rims chanting
stainless wisdom & I imagine
when he bowed his head humbly low
heard the word “Trinity” break forth
from a picked stem of clover, he had
chosen as his earthly profession,
each leaflet’s emerald heart humming. ••
Diane Sahms-Guarnieri, a native Philadelphia poet living in Lawndale since 1986, is author of four full-length poetry collections and most recently a chapbook, COVID-19 2020 A Poetic Journal (Moonstone Press, 2021). Published in North American Review, Sequestrum Journal of Literature & Arts and Brushfire Literature & Arts Journal, among others, she is poetry editor at North of Oxford’s online literary journal and teleworks full-time for the government. http://www.dianesahms-guarnieri.com/.
