Still The Rains Come

 

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?”)

 

 

 

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