Get out your May Pole

and dance for truth and freedom

The Bloodroots are blooming in my backyard. Transplanted from the ravine near the family farm where I was born. They emerge hooded in lobed robes of blue-green, unfurling is a bright show of hope. I don’t pick them like I once did, the toxic red sap staining my bare hands. Now I want them to propagate, post themselves like sentinels of life under the sp…