Saturday, March 29, 2008

Rites of Spring

One day
this week was warm
with the promise of spring and
by the next morning
there had been three brawls
and three shootings
in our urban village.

This is the thaw after winter
the precursor to summer heat.

Eleven year old girls
told stories of who raced after fights
and peeked their eyes out windows,
who followed the helicopters
waltz in the sky.

The Marches of my own childhood
were spent spotting robins,
spying the first crocus in our neighbor's yard,
watching for the first hint of green
frost the tree tips.

These are the privileges we don't count
when we add up the sum of our lives
the taking for granted of the first warm afternoon and
the shift in the air that starts a new season.

There are no robins.
There's not one crocus.
The trees are bare and spindly.

Spring is here.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I know how hard it must be to realize that all children don't see spring in the same way. However, you made my day when I realized you remembered the robins and the crocuses. I am so glad you are writing again.Love you.

7:52 PM  
Blogger snowsparkle said...

what a beautiful way of penetrating the surface of spring and getting to the realness of rebirth... it's all about each of us doing our part to bring joy/new life into being. you have done your part well. thank you, big hugs, snowsparkle

4:55 PM  
Blogger Kathleen said...

good to see you here, again.
thank you for my poem last week, too.

this is so good, my friend.
my love to your girls and to you, too.

9:42 PM  
Blogger January said...

Yea, you're writing! Hope you are well.

11:46 PM  
Blogger hele said...

Beautiful and sad. There are some amazing research by a couple called Kaplan on the positive psychological effects of greening urban spaces.

For me this poem breathes life into their research.

4:49 AM  

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