Easter Is Cold In 2016 Poem by Jacqui Thewless

Clematis leaves are greening the tangles of vine
but I am not painting a canvas
with five-coloured prayer flags.
Even the hands' dry
upper surfaces are unconvinced;
no winter of our lives has been as cold as this time is
with its too many madmen,
too much violence,
too many lies of the filthy rich for too long.
I am waiting for warmth
to take us by surprise
and show us something smaller than the planet we know:
an opening
the size of a palm, an un-clenched fist,
or a baby's first, free,
miracle steps in a room, on grass, on sand, on a rock, in the sea.