Blossoms

by Stacie Eirich

Outside the shuttle window, small pink buds bloom 

like cherry blossoms, bright and bountiful 

in rain. The blue-gray sky is strung 

with clouds; winter has not had 

her last say. Yet signs of spring abound 

in blossoms, stretches of green amongst 

ruddy brown. My daughter wonders 

at the way the tree branches look strung 

with the clay of bricks, asks: Are they alive? 

We spot the green and the buds, feel the cool 

raindrops and answer: Yes, yes. 

She rises from her seat in the shuttle 

ahead of me, vivid yellow puffball atop 

her rainbow cap bouncing. Steps forward 

through the rain, past the branches and blossoms. 

Opens the door to the clinic, greets the morning as if 

it were always sunny, as if it were always spring. I wonder 

at the way the blossoms lean in to us, ask: Will we survive this? 

Listen to the laughter in her voice, see the jig in her step, feel 

the strength of her spirit filling the room and think: Yes, yes.