In Spring

No orbital saturation
like the lime baby grasses
of springtime. Bath
of color, and all ballast
sinks to the bottom
of those tender shoots.

Tender like us,
though I’m not sure why
we spend so much energy
pretending we are not.

Let’s push up through
this fertile dark, exposed,
and let the long winter
deliver our bodies
to the raw green courage
of a fragile and glorious bloom.

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Emancipation

Three and a half years
since I’ve cleaned
these gutters. Leaves

turned to grey
confetti and finally
to dirt. In my hands,

mulch comes out in
satisfying clumps
the size of banana bread.

Others have offered
to clean these channels,
and for fourteen seasons

I declined –even
as the rains sloshed
unceremoniously

over the bulging sides,
even as snow turned
glacier slid down

the burdened rooftop
with nowhere to go –
precarious slabs of blue

that told the story
of neglect. But today,
in the quiet springtime,

I remove, finally,
the obstruction,
thinking sometimes,

the things we know
we need to do
simply have to wait.

mamaday

pirates dance
school show
camera flash
front row
necklace
homemade
crack eggs
fresh laid
best friends
baked bread
be together
instead
bright sun
coffee hot
trampoline
teapot
bike ride
long walk
guitar music
good talk
salted rim
extra lime
dandelions
springtime
mama goose
goslings
quiet voices
hot springs
Jupiter
star light
write poem
goodnight.