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The Gertrude Munzenmaier Prize

Ruth Ilg



My hands,
stained with the green
of dandelion,
plunge into
the dark soil
again and again...
blindly searching,
seeking the heart-shaped
bulb          which,
hope-filled last fall,
we transplanted
from your garden
into mine.

Giddy with joy
and promise,
we sprinkled
the earth with
locks of hair,
and we buried
a red ribbon
the depth.

Holding each other,
we named her
and we were sure.