Three Takes on Spring

It’s spring

and the deer that died on the ice

amid a stippling

of bloody paw prints

and strutting crows

has finally fallen through

to the meaning and the murk

and the muddiness

of pond.


It’s spring

and the lemon verbena

we planted by mistake

three seasons ago

already is green

when I rake out last year’s soggy leaves —

poised to clog up

the garden

by the lush of late July.


It’s spring

and the women are touching

their winter paunches

in front of their bedroom mirrors

as they tug

their bikinis into place.

They begin to do without

in this burgeoning, this bounty,

this time of fat and plenty.

Join the conversation