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.
