Tagged: march
the first day of spring
the first day of spring
arrives, and winter has yet
to hand over the
keys – we spend the morning searching,
looking in all the wrong places
.
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y
dad is teaching mom
dad is teaching mom
to play mozart’s turkish march
on the piano –
on a southern summer friday,
each note lands sticky with doubt
.
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in mama’s garden,
in mama’s garden,
the camellias wake up before
anyone else, stretch
towards the sun in their winter
layers, waiting to go out
.
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y
march catches me off
march catches me off
guard, gloves, hat, two scarves and a
tweed coat, hanging on
.
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tired repetition,
tired repetition,
a light dusting into march,
stepping towards spring
.
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** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: dusting
saturday, you were
saturday, you were
out of this world and into
the next one – every
door ached, window wept, chimney sighed,
we held on so we wouldn’t slip
.
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y
on the first day of
late March rolls up his
late March rolls up his
tatami sky on a whim –
what we see is who
we are, two seasons promptly
tucking in their wet shirttails
.
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March begins so
March begins so
discreetly with
a bottle of
involvement and
two chewable
vitamins
.
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any moment now, March
any moment now, March
will unfurl
her generous
tongue
and take no prisoners
.
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y 