After I'm Gone

Green shoots push through
dirt muddied with winter debris-
broken branches - bark shards
soiled leaves - dried flowers
seed shells left by squirrels who
scam the garage’s bird feeder;

lukewarm sink water stains the lean,
gazing out the kitchen window
hoping to catch spring hatching
like the wet, yellow chickadees
that fight through their eggshell
under the museum’s heat lamps;

the hardy petal promised
should conquer April’s frost-
fight off the hawk that preys
on winter’s tight fisted hold
burying the brown lawn
in sand-like ice and snow,

but they hide from me,
when chores are done-
even after I’m gone.