spring poem

Soon, it will be warm enough to open the big windows,

to let in the outside noise, to fill our room 

with the hum of everyone on the sidewalk,

and the chittering of the squirrels and sparrows that play

on the roof and the trees.

Lost ladybugs and bees will zip 

into our four walls,

bouncing off the ceiling

until we guide them back out there,

and a gentle wind will pick them up 

and take them above houses and cars, 

where they can see the lake 

and drift down to blooming flowers

dotting the parks.

And we’ll meet again in green grass,

soil soft where the snow has fed it well.

I’ll let ants crawl between my fingers,

and lift them up to my face like

a child with a magnifying glass;

I can look more closely

without bitter wind in my eyes.

Soon it will be warm enough to carry my blue blanket

and some sandwiches and two cans of sweet tea

down to the waterfront,

to gaze at clouds and dogs

and all the other good things that have been

in gray hibernation.

I’ll take pictures of the white sun and let it

warm my skin.

One sunny day in April, we will have

more than enough.