Poem: Promise
Promise
by Anne McCrady
On the grayest day
in winter, when even wet boots
would be better than the best
news you have heard lately,
and you need to clear the table
of your latest temptations
to be some place else,
take out a clean canvas.
Spill the milk of cirrus silk
across a spring-starched sky.
Draw an arrow, a piney line
pointing the way to heaven.
Give it limbs for fletching.
Fill the foreground
with the wild abandon
of azalea blossoms, honeysuckle
trumpets, redbud beads.
Add doe print, coon track,
webs of finest spider weave.
Count the miracles behind you;
consider the ones to come.
Recite the earthy promise
of the buckeye in your pocket:
another April in East Texas
is more than any man’s fair share
of grace or good luck.
From Anne's poetry collection, Letting Myself In
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