Quietly, on Snowy Bank

By Joni Hilton

Second Place

The grander view they saw

from wagons winding west

across the plains,

was more than glacier streaks

into the sun,

hawk rising in a silver sky.

It pulled a mother,

kneeling in the snow,

to feet long numb, but

tramping steady rhythm,

leaving tiny graves behind.

Faith welling up like clouds

of steam above the snow,

she clutches her bright wrap,

discordant gold against the gray.

Wind-feathered, clinging thinly

to her bones, the drape is but

a frail response to winter’s icy breath.

And then, a sudden gust sweeps

through the shawl,

spreads sail and fills, lifting

cloth from her heart.

Like monarch wings, wet and new,

she glistens.

Gossamer, yet strong.