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Poems by Mary Fons
spring. ladies and gentlemen. spring has come. if I were better at descriptions I would say she has come on winged feet/playing hope on violins/I would say we have just been given back that singular shade of lilac that completes as lover’s sunset/if I were better at this/I would say spring just illuminated the silver stripe of flesh in gold goldfish that slip through the lake/confirming for the skeptics of whom I am quite sick/that spring does exist/proof of which is delivered in well wishing breezes that charm the buds out of gardens tended by old but contented women who waited all winter for this communion. if I were bitter/I would ask her what took her so long and who does she think she is anyway/putting us through January/the punishment of February and then/as if that weren’t enough/waited as we suffered the cruelty of March /a month that masquerades as her youngest but tricks us every year. because I’m so glad to see her/however/I’ll replace the sour taste in my mouth with bursts of honey in petals of clover that decided to come to the party after a long layover in April. young and old/rejoice! never before have I sounded such words/didn’t think my heathen heart could cook them up and let them pour forth from such a burning throat as this/but I surprise myself/how can I help but give thanks/spring has come to this hitherto now barren place/easy weather sings through my open window/my dry mouth is given cool water to drink/ten toes tickled with blades of green grass/at long last the sky proves she can be blue if she really wants to/heavy air gets thinner now and smells of bugs and soil/when the world changes this way and winter slinks back to the cave from which it came/when the day ceases to be black for ten hours straight/I know no matter what happens next/that which has been broken is about to be fixed/spring is responsible for this. welcome back beautiful/you have been missed. |