Route 7 Review - Page 84

Spring Arrives By Beth Konkoski My neighbor walks the road in a straw hat, tied on by a flowered scarf. A roulette gust of spring steals the hat, game of twisting and glittering, some red heat in the day unplanned. But she gives chase. I know she is bald, from a chiseled winter of cold chemical evenings. Each morning she says it is all she wants, a soft chance for flowered beauty. So the wind carries her among the trees whose velvet leaves twist her a wig and I clap. It is spring.