I bury their tiny heads in peat and think
Of the day when the sun warms the soil
And my children’s bodies sprout leaves and sing flowers
Into the sunshine. Raise those tiny fists high
Rejoice in the world. I don’t pray often.
Snow falls outside my window and I think
About the tiny bodies outside, the small unpeople
Obscured by dunes of white crystal
They’re only sleeping, I think
And dream of the day when roots
Climb through their bones, branches like fingers grow
Until they touch the sky.
Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota, since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Oyez Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, while her recently published books include Music Theory for Dummies (3rd edition), Piano All-in-One for Dummies, The Book Of, and Nordeast Minneapolis: A History.