Snowbird

^{—after still life paintings by Rachel Ruysch at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam}

All winter the grass has held fast  
to green so lush it is easy to forget  
how hard the ground can be  
without an expanse of blades 
to cushion an unexpected fall. It is  
warm here and at first a relief to shrug off  

the wool coat, untie the want  
for sunlight, move in a cotton dress  
cut from ocean blue cloth, water  
the birds of paradise, beaks parted  
in your mangrove of yard, flock that thrives  
in soil that could never sustain the flowers  

you can’t help but miss, blooms nursed  
for months beneath the snow, daffodils  
and paper whites, bulbs bred to endure  
the burrow, roots shortened by season, buds  
clenched in fists of unfurled petals, the strength  
they require to break through the ground.