Spring

Although I love the colorful New England fall, when Easter rolls around I desperately miss the sunshine and flowers of spring down in Baltimore. Everything seems brighter and more saturated, and the days are getting longer. Dinners are now bathed in the setting sunlight, not the deep winter darkness.

But it is also a time of remembering what has been lost. I wrote this poem around this time last year during a sudden loss in the spring:

The sun is still rising behind the pine trees

And I have woken from a nightmare.

I sit at my desk and crack open

The old window above it

So that the warped glass does not skew

My vision.

It’s spring again.

The sensual curves of the magnolia

Have returned to my yard,

And I watch the way their milky pink petals

Glow from within

In those moments before the sun greets them.

I stare at the blank page in front of me

And sense rain in it,

Along with all of the heaviness I feel

But do not want to acknowledge.

Spring.

I never noticed the sorrow wrapped

Within the rebirth.

But of course, I am still madly in love with the spring. Here's to warmer weather and beautiful flowers, like the ones above.