Linda Nemec Foster

My Daughter Discovers the Violin

Ever since she first
lightly touched the strings,
lowering the bow so that
even the sparrows
nesting outside her window could
feel the music, my daughter has marveled
over and over at how pure
song can emanate from amber wood,
transparent strings,
even silent hands. My daughter, whose fingers
run through the violin's forest like a startled wind.

January

The clouds, empty
of white treasure.
The earth, covered
with cold crystals.
The river, frozen
in gray memory.