Today I saw a Robin,
first one this year.
And part way up
the grassy hill, the cedar tree,
my mother’s grave.

Here it is halfway through March.
I hadn’t even looked
To find the first.
Hopping, flying just above the ground.
But, more than that, to hear it sing.

Robins were a thing we shared:
“I saw one.” ,
“But are you sure?”,  
“Oh, yes, no mistaking that!”
Conviction in our voices making fact.

This winter’s roguery
Took me down a peg
Created pause,  a looking-back in me.
When robins came
My mind was somewhere else.
Instead of running out,
I held back and sought security:

The bird stood still.
I wondered: Could it be?
Is that her way of telling me?
I try to resurrect her voice:
“It must be Spring!”
But gone ‘s that part in me
that rises up with joy,
at birds, and early leaves
It’s gone  and buried there with her,
beside the cedar tree.“