Having been discharged from Hell, the New York dead lie piled inside refrigerated trucks, awaiting their transport to Heaven and reunion with old enemies and friends.
A continent away, the redwood forest throbs with life, as prehistoric ferns unfurl, and tiny wildflowers become droplets of courageous color in the shade of the big, dark trees.
Look and see how the lovely trillium open their delicate white petals, arching gently toward the light, and, as if no one told them the news, they innocently say: There is something pure that never dies.
Naomi Steinberg
This article appears in Stay out of Sight.
Thank you Naomi for a lovely reminder. Kenzie
A really nice poem that helped make my day.
A lovely, positive, feel good poem, much needed. Suzanne
Bullseye!
Naomi, I just chanced upon your poem searching past NCJ poetry. You caught this (past) moment in the pandemic perfectly. Will you write more?