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.