I See Her Today

KENNETH POBO

Leaden since Tuesday, the sky
waits for the sun to push
fire-hairy arms through
a budding pussy willow. Clouds
give way to a blue spreading
across our brown yard,
a trellis with dead morning
glories pressed to it. Before

mom died she asked for
pussy willows. They arrived a week
too late. I see her today,

in a babushka, walking out
to the bush, the tallest branches
ten feet above her head,
spring still seven weeks away,
her steps lost to snow
and bitter winds.