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Thus it is that, without asking,
spring moves up the ridge
another day’s full measure,
so cowslip carpets a high meadow
that yesterday lay a plain new green.
Redbuds that hailed the end of frosts
now pale beside the flowering quince
and blaze of samara seeds like blood red
wings adorn the supplicant limbs
of winter-weary sugar maple
and, without asking, pull my gaze
far from valley seam to move me
with this season’s rite procession
up distant hills where purple hurt
like Shenandoah’s haze recedes
into this broken night and through
ragged strips of gauzy clouds
the paschal wafer moon
washes the whole prospect
in ambient glow of its topaz light.
©2010 by Margaret B. Ingraham
Margaret B. Ingraham
is a nominee for a 2010 Library of Virginia Literary Award in poetry, the recipient
of an Academy of American Poets Award, a Sam Ragan Prize, and several poetry
fellowships from the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. She is the author of
the collection This Holy Alphabet (Paraclete Press, 2010), a cycle of
lyric poems based on her original translation from the Hebrew of Psalm 119, as well
as two chapbooks, Proper Words for Birds (Finishing Line Press, 2009),
and Light Is Near Falling (Windy Run Press, 2000). Her poetry
regularly appears in a variety of national and international print and online
literary journals, and former U.S. Poet Laureate Ted Kooser selected her work for
inclusion in the anthology The Windflower Home Almanac of Poetry.
A portion of one of her poems is engraved on the “Wall of History” that is part
of the Tennessee Heritage Bicentennial Heritage Capitol Mall in Nashville, Tennessee.
She lives and works in Alexandria, Virginia.
Art by Georgia O'Keeffe.
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