Still The Rains Come
Pour molasses now,
sugar the soil – chives build to burst with purple,
clusters soon, I watch: what stories do the strawberry blossoms creak
narrate their sugared flow open?
Keep your rain layers yet, boots and fleece close:
Daphne odora has colored our block –
honey-sweet and lemon infuse our neighborhood mist,
the low clouds and sunbreaks of scent,
orange blossoms sing in a zone where no citrus grows –
and the cherries fall, soft, pink petals
in droves – the rhubarb is still unfolding, and it’s
too cold for tomatoes, still.
Crows are collecting sticks and moss, it’s fledgling time soon:
I carry peanuts in my pockets, tchk-tchk; toss with
a click of the tongue, and smart hello, court my mating pair with
meal worms and yolks boiled just so: a greeting woosh
of feathered fly-by rather than a dive-bombed peck on the head,
I’ll take: a few weeks, with luck, there will be a third crow to call,
blue-eyed, red-mouthed, squeaking.
Does are birthing, lie down in the hay, scratchy
last year’s grass stuck in your hair, be a mountain
to climb, head-strong kids butt and jump and bleat,
snuggles warm, lungs lightly heaving,
a rest in your lap. Wipe the dust, long to carry
a kid home, fingers curled in fuzzed fur. Instead, bring crackers,
the first chevre, so white and bright, melts soft on your tongue,
chalky-sweet; rosé sparkles, tartly bursts: it’s April,
the rains of May await.
Na/GloPoWriMo Day Twenty-Five delights the senses: we are to write a poem that
- Is specific to a season
- Uses imagery that relates to all five senses (sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell)
- Includes a rhetorical question, (like Keats’ “where are the songs of spring?”)