Poet’s Corner: “In the Small Hours of the Morning” – Brittany DiGiacomo

grass rises from under the earth,
leaves bloom at the base of flowers,
trees burst greenly beneath a blue powder fog at dawn
where people wake softened by the echoes of chirps,
by the stream of light burning inside as deeply as coal

but first we must bear the violent blow of hail and frost,
the feast of rain and slush
reaching far into the crevices in rocks

not even the smallest finger
can graze those cracks and spaces

winter alone will fill those gaps,
flush out the debris,
melt it all the way to the root,
and only then –
like an elastic coil wire when stretched –
will spring return to shape.