Member Poem

I too have known
the bone-chill of the empty wood
in winter's tight fist,
huddled among the ghosts
of summer's lush splendor.
Cruel winds stripped me,
bayed for my undoing -
yet the sweet gum's branches
arched in ardent insistence,
budding into April's tear-bright dawns.
I have risen from floodwaters
into rainbowed renewal,
the slick miracle of infant fronds
uncurling from drowned stalks.
Death could not keep me grounded.
Like the scattered, stunned birds
mazed by storms into silence,
I've been lost in the blinding
ferocity of life's rough graces -
only to catch the pure grace notes
of daybreak's flute, calling
each bright being to wake
and praise what persists:
greenest hope sprouting
from brine-burned hollows.
So let me be that oak blazing
crisp copper from the lightning's
bold calligraphy. Though scarred,
I will spread patience-strong roots
and flourish like the miraculous.