Sarah DeWeerdt
Early Spring in Virginia

It is not yet the time
for flower,
the time for seed in furrow.
The first early frogs climb
out of their winter
mud. Mom says she’s heard them
down by the creek behind the house.
All winter the nurses pushed
drugs into her, the red
liquids and clear liquids
hanging in plastic bags. And the season
of poisons is over. Only a little snow
is left along the creek bed, where
the skunk cabbage pushes
its thick shoot through
the brittle crust. Outside
the kitchen window, the trees
are returning to leaf, the new
growth like a green mist along
the bare branches. Cells
migrate and divide. Mom lifts
her hand and runs it over her scalp,
the lengthening stubble
of her hair. My heart’s taproot
drinks. Today, there is nothing to do
but watch, but wait.

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