photo by Collyn Ware

Apple Blossom Time
    --for Gracyn

For months, winter has cast
stern silhouettes upon the land--
such spears and snarls,
twigs and tines
to make the hours weep.
 
Until spring simply opens the world, releasing
baskets of balloons which take the air
with saffron joy.
Until the first sweet blossoms pink the day,
blushing against the cornflower sky.
 
Tomorrow, you will turn eleven.
But for months, you’ve been pruning
the branches of childhood,
making space for something even brighter
in the canopy above.
 
Now, the first blooms begin to peek around
the corners of innocence.
They test the breeze,
their petals pearl with dew.
 
This is apple blossom time,
this liminal space where girlhood smiles
one last rosy smile, and minutes blink
in wonder.
 
This is apple blossom time,
when the world is pinker, softer
 
and you, my darling bud, are lovelier
than you know.