Poem: "Pieced Green" by Pamela Harrison
Far away, over the mountain, clouds
run steely gray, as though this spring
were pierced again by snow.
Yellow trails into the willow’s shawl,
maroon into the maple. Crows cackle
in the meadow, trading cruel jokes
while we reseed the rows, slowly
cultivating hope out of tattered green.
Old enough now to know
our dream of peace was only that.
Once again, we must school our wanting,
plow this resonating ache
into a stubborn lean of will,
work of hands,
against the usual ruin.
Pamela Harrison reads "Pieced Green"