A poem for the lonely (neighbors)

It’s very quiet in the streets;

a masked stranger strolls by.

I cannot tell if he is smiling,

or if his mouth is pursed,

A sealed wound.

How sweet it is to smell the blossoms

spreading in the trees!

Their pale blooms unclasp,

and their petals, like a silken crown,

are raised.

How I wish I could hold my head

like they do!

A black man was killed two weeks ago,

and now the cities smolder.

Ashes choke;

a girl sobs. 

Someone shouts.

Hear all the broken hearts;

the ground is littered with glass pieces.

Remind yourself not

to forget the pale blossoms

peeking from the trees.

Their snowy buds are newborn children,

radiant in second birth.

Let us begin again with spring,

clasping these buds close to our hearts.

Let us remember that the newborns peek out afresh.

Let yourselves be cleansed with snow,

let the winter be a memory,

and let us stroll out,

masked,

into the summer sun.

Look at the stranger’s face:

Let it be a smile.

by HALEY CREIGHTON