by Victoria Korth Issue: Spring 2015
My footprints in the grass this morning are like
pilgrims following each other at a respectful distance.
Looking up I startle at the broad jacket of forsythia
flung against the neighbor’s abandoned garage,
a prim redbud ovulating through trunk bark, recoil –
tall magnolia’s rummy smell, old wedding cake.
Blown-down blossoms are plastic cups tossed over the fence
by nervous Spring, white-throated actor
tipping its head back, mouthing its lines.

Victoria Korth is a poet and practicing psychiatrist living in Western New York. She holds a Masters Degree in Creative Writing from SUNY Brockport. Her poetry, inspired by nature and the human psyche, has appeared in Spoon River Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Worcester Review, Barrow Street, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Cord Color was published in June 2015 from Finishing Line Press.