Honourable Mention

The Significance of Snowdrops

by Meg Freer
My excitement upon seeing snowdrops
rapidly deflates when you respond, “Snowdrops?
What are snowdrops?” and I bite my tongue,
order hot cross buns, while sadness wells up
as if I have just unlit a candle by using its flame
to light a match, for I announce my first sighting
of snowdrops every spring, taste grace
in their blessing, and I consider whether you
should look where they grow beside the deck,
or whether I should retire my harps of joy,
agree with cosmologists who say the earth
gets more insignificant over time, or whether
my tongue has clung too long to my palate
and not made it clear that, during Lenten lengthening
of days, when fragments of ice still skitter across glass,
snowdrops will never be insignificant.
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