In the Quapaw Quarter

by Kenneth Salzmann

This redbud sears
and steams when ice
white as an older world
slips over the Quapaw
in new spring.

It is an ember cupped in the verdant
bed of March and smoldering,
spattering promises while poised
to answer anticipated needs
for heat and light.

At flashpoint a cardinal skims across
its purpled fingers, sipping vapor.