The maple is taller than yesterday,
peppered with birds and orange bloom – aloof
below an unscarred blue.
But that is the maple, those are the birds,
and that is the sky.
And though I cannot unsee
unfettered Spring, I cannot unsee
suspicion, the revulsion of hands,
breath and similar heats
that strain against our leaning.
I cannot unknow the slow drawn wind
and the shattered hope
clung brief in a tube.
Take to your pens, dear ones,
mark this time – scrawl that once
in a Spring not come, shriveled
and short of breath,
all Springs must take their measure.
Image: Tara Meinczinger on Unsplash
Published in “Poetic Medicine in the Time of Pandemic” ©2020 by Lotus Leaf LLC.
Thank you so much.
Beautiful, that last line is so intelligent and spot on!
Thank you Mae. I was just expressing to Mr. Stainsby that at the end of this pandemic, there is going to be a massive archive of works from around the world all addressing the experience of this event. I do hope that someone has the time and ambition to compile it in its entirety.
That is an excellent idea Devon! We should at least contribute our very best, if not team up or collaborate!
Hello Mae, I’d be happy to do a collaborative piece with you. It would be fun. D
Fantastic last stanza
Thanks, BobbyFawn. I appreciate your reading and commenting
I appreciate the fact in the last stanza it sounds like a clarion call
I was hoping it would be a clarion call. I think it important that the voices of everyday people be transcribed and compiled to give evidence to what I assume will be a generalized and statistic laden history down the road.
Sharing this will go along way. Sharing right away
Thanks, M28, appreciated. D