H O P E

Her message written carefully

She crossed it out, discarded it

Rewrote it once, then twice

Sheathed it in plastic, rolled it up,

fed it through narrow mouth, cast bottle out

so far her shoulder ached.

And saw it bobble, disappear

Come up again and catch the sun

Then watched and sighed --

to see it drift too close to rocks

-- but still smelled hope

 
She dug out stones and tangled roots

so convoluted, densely-packed

in dandelion-infested clay

that hid old pieces of tin cans, well-rusted horseshoes,

pot shards, worms

and dormant insects swathed in fine-knit sheaths.

And having dug, she fertilized: bone meal and dung,

and compost well dug-in.

She read instructions carefully and planted deep

Those bulbs, now, weren’t they withered, spent?

And were those sleeping bugs benign?

--And yet, she still smelled hope

 
She stared up at the pin-point stars

cold-glittering in the universe

so long, so hard her neck grew stiff

and earth beneath her feet grew cold

But still she gazed until she found

a star that drew a dazzling arc

and slashed right through its velvet bed

to course through chill night sky

Then wondered – was that star a star?

Or was it just a satellite – a manufactured

hunk of steel

and hardly worth a wish? –

--And yet her hope held fast

 
No answer came, the bottle broke

the paper note a soggy mess

And spring has finished, summer’s past

But flowers she sowed have failed to bloom

While weeds spring up and flourish and

--her star was not a star.

And yet she wakes and still finds hope

She breathes it as she stoops to dig

and plants her seeds or pens her lines

or gazes up in wonder at the stars.