by Annie Patterson
Last week’s fury was not unlike
Frozen clusters of winter ice
That sharpen its teeth on rocky bones,
Glittering where the sunlight shone.
Sparkling like daggers, newly honed.
But now the air is warmly dressed
Feeling new and somehow fresh
A hearty thaw, late in the show
Is melting all the ice and snow
Causing drips on soil below
Soil that was turned and tilled
In endless sessions from last fall
When we used rakes or hoes instead
Taken from the family’s shed
And tried to heal our garden bed
I stand and watch the steamy smoke
Rise from the soil’s furnace, stoked
The smell of moldy leaves that’s grown
From somewhere in this earthy mound,
Of mossy green and sienna brown
My anger now is dissipating
For ice and snow there’s no more waiting
They are dancing down the path
And by the brook, they make a pact
Where I can almost hear them laugh
Last week’s icy temper’s melted
Love’s warm thaw within me quelled it
I’ve had to do some letting go
Of anger’s ice and fury’s snow
So that forgiveness’ seed could grow.