Mary Hills Kuck

Snowdrops

Mary Hills Kuck

No one told the snowdrops not to cluster close together when they poked their heads above the ground next to the maple tree beside the shed. They held each other up with slender leaves and gently opened out their milky petals, clumped like Mother’s curls.

Today there was no melting snow that would remind them of the vigil’s coming end; they popped up through old leaves that snuggled them until they could no longer wait to sing, Surprise! Can you see that spring has come? Their paean’s short, but sweetens every ear.

Madelyn and the Resurrection of the Body

Mary Hills Kuck

This body? You’ve got to be kidding. With its fragile heart, aching joints, belly out of sync with the food that goes in, drippy nose, dry skin, and scars, scars, scars.

No. Who would want this body sent back to life, having found its long-sought rest, joining bit by bit the warm, leafy loam? Not me. I’d like a new one.

Yet —this old body knows the joy of a good night’s sleep, the cheer of a splendid meal, the glow of a gentle touch, the ecstasy of love. . .

a swing with a bat gone wrong, a bicycle much too big, an angered greedy dog, a skinned knee not quite healed, the deeper, secret scars.

The body keeps the record. Would I want to start again without the history it holds, the wisdom gathered, etched in pain and bliss?

Even Jesus kept his wounds, healed but still with scars. So if the miracle comes to me, go ahead, raise these bones. But could you mend the flesh?

Mary Hills Kuck has retired from teaching English and German in the US and Jamaica and now lives in Massachusetts with her family. She has received a Pushcart Prize nomination and has published in a number of journals, including the Connecticut River Review, SLANT, Tipton Poetry Journal, Burningword Literary Journal, From the Depths, Splash, Poetry Quarterly, Main Street Rag, and others. Her chapbook, Intermittent Sacraments, was published in June, 2021, by Finishing Line Press.