Early Spring

The crocus has pushed up through the dead grass,
buds of yellow, white, purple;
long narrow daffodil buds, creamy green,
reach for the sun;
snow still stands around the edges
of my early spring garden.

I sit on the steps in my jammies,
coffee, poodle beside me,
listening to bird songs I haven't heard
for almost a year.
My bare toes dance on the steps,
feet breathing fresh air.

Inside myself I dance,
a child, round and round,
watching my pretty skirt
swing wide, open.

"Mommy, mommy, watch me,"
my flower buds sing to the sun.