Snowdrop (A Scent of Things to Come)

Hope, Consolation, First Sign of Spring

The dark days seem to go on forever.
She prowls the cold streets on her lunch hour,
each empty storefront a new shade of yellowing gray.
Everything must go; all first-quality merchandise;
the real estate agency for rent.
Graffiti has faded to shades of rusty red.

On the corner she steps out in front
of a cop car, is splashed back onto the curb.
By her wet ankles, clean surprise:
a snowdrop.

Behind her the resin angels
of Saint Anthony's gift shop
look to the sky,
concealing half-smiles.


Adam said...

you invent the word, "snowdrop"? I like it

Kate Horowitz said...


Thanks, though. I wish I had.

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