Early Robins and Rhubarb

Red breast
Bumped against
Red breast
And claws curled,
The robins rise
From the earth
To meet for a mid-air conference.

Then just as suddenly,
And in tandem,
They flit away.
Return alone
To hop
Across the bank
Of heaped-up snow.

Meanwhile,
To assist
In our anticipation
Of coffeecakes,
Sauces,
And pies,
The gardener has cleared the snow
From the rhubarb beds.

In response to that uncovering,
Ruby red and
Rusty purple
Bulges
Of a mysterious living entity,
Not yet plant-like, really,
Has begun to manifest itself.

Insistent on seeking the sun,
The whole mass
Pushes relentlessly up
Through the black dirt.
Once free,
These primitive forms
Will straighten into stalks.
Each stalk
Will crown itself with a leaf.

And all the while
The stalks will fill themselves
With a wild juice
So tangy and so tart
That only sugar
Or a marriage
With a sweeter fruit
Can tame it.

Alongside the rhubarb beds,
The robins
Hop about
On the left-over snow.
They are oblivious
To the miracles
Of rhubarb growth and renewal.

They have their own spring chores to attend to.