Spring Memories


I could tell you
of my love of
each spring –

The cherry
speaking up.

The moon’s
first swim in
the pond out

pausing for
muffins and

a stray dog to
introduce to the
summer rental.

And the bird
with one note –
bless it.

How do we
bear summer
when spring
is so rich with
the good and
the good?

Photo: blazingcatfur.ca




crocuses flowers spring

It summers here
my early spring
when you hold me

and you’ve wanted
the flowers in winter
I’ll be

you’ve wanted the
new green music

because you’ve been
looking a long time
and finally found

your spring.

Photo: All-free-download.com

Staying Too Long

He asked if it was always
this busy. I said, “No. Busier.”
I wanted to eat with him then
when his smile lit up a dark day.

And I did, staying too long –
each of us with people waiting –
his wife, my husband.

But there were things that
needed saying: his fifth grade
broken arm, my long desire
for a man who had broken his
arm in fifth grade.

And the days fell into step
meeting there, a deli as it
happened, and I can say I
loved even as we said we
wouldn’t, assuring ourselves
the hotel room was just once,
twice and the amount of time
it takes to stop counting.

I told myself these things
happen: a deli, a room, a man
with whom I never should
have, this man with whom
I did.

Our Love

When our love has become
pigeons daily,

when we lie in bed lying to one
another about the weekend –

neither of us wanting to harm
the pigeons,

I look in your eyes after you’ve
gone to take a shower, and they

are neither yours nor mine.

Some part of me – the lightning
perhaps, quick to know where

to go, that part wants the
summer place and the dog.

That fast I don’t care about the
rest of it as you drop the soap.

“Are you all right?” I call to you –
out of habit, out of time,

from the sidelines.