Spring arrives late this year.
The cherry trees in front of my building already
dropped their blossoms, suctioned to the pavement
but I’m still wearing my wool coat in the mornings.

“Dreaming of April” is my March song
But she came and is slow to breathe life into the city this time.
I don’t resent it. I’m surprised by this.
But when my soul is slow to germinate toward the light
It seems right for the thaw to match the pace.

My hair is starting to grow back now
from when I sheared it off —
Happy Valentine’s day to me.
She called it “situational depression.”

I don’t want to jinx the shift,
but I’m counting bright mornings.
We’re at three in a row, today.
Maybe, maybe?

Everything is intuition right now,
feeling the edges of decisions,
Fingering the shapes of new things.
Breathe into the stretch. Close your eyes.
Feel the burn and release.

I wrote this after it snowed at the end of March and the cold was lingering long. But a few days more turned everything around and it was hitting the 80s, and I got happily sunburned. -H


Comments are closed