Last
week
we had a
foot of snow;
heavy
snow that broke tree branches.
And yet,
my tulips, halfway up,
and Scilla,
already blooming,
covered
in that same snow
are out
today
showy
and cheerful and thriving.
Spring
is relentless.
Try as
we might,
it can’t
be stopped.
Even
when it’s painful
even
when we aren’t prepared
even
when we can’t,
My hair flaps in the wind
like a
fist-full of grey ribbons,
as I
stand on the ridge top
pouring
curses
into the
sky.
No one
hears me,
which is
lucky,
I guess,
unless
hearing is
a good thing.
Unless
knowing is a good thing.
All the
happy families
curdle
in my mouth.
Their
photos curl
and
singe at my touch.
A picket
fence of sins
stretches
before
me,
and I kiss
each one
goodbye,
though I
love them so.
