Article: The Spring Ephemerals.(Poem)

 
THE SPRING EPHEMERALS 
 
   Here she comes with her face to be kissed. Here she comes 
   lugging two plastic sacks looped over her arms and stuffed 
 
   with fresh shoots. It's barely dawn. She's been out 
   for an hour already, digging up what she can save 
 
   before developers raze the day's lot sites and set 
   woodpiles ablaze. That's their plan for the ninety-plus acres. 
 
   She squats in the sun to show me wild phlox 
   in pink-running-to-blue, rue anemone, masses 
 
   of colt's foot, wild ginger, blood root and may-apples, 
   bracken and fiddlehead fern--ferns being not 
 
   spring ephemerals, per se, but imperiled by road-graders 
   come to shave the shaded ...

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