Stacey Dye

It’s springtime
and I find my voice
tucked in the cupboard
beneath winter’s chill.

Uncorked like a fine
vintage wine my words
are effervescent.
Ice melts away,

the darkness of winter fades.
I’ve been quiet for so long—
watching, waiting,
biding my time.

Now the meadowlark
has nothing on me.
I sing into the night
for at last, I am free.