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Spring (a poem)

look

where you

are.


where

did you

come from?


why do Autumn’s naked brown branches and April’s bright green buds share a street?


tattoo a rose on your right hip and

baby’s breath beneath your left breast.


blow. bloom. bring the broom to

clean up crushed peddles and pastels

making your floor a canvas


for the devastated, the damaged, the beloved

bestowed with bandages and baggage.


claim your calamity with character development,

past pain proves to be cargo we cast away

when the boat begins to go under.


reap the weeds with the wheat,

burn the bones and eat the meat,

bath water is waste, but the baby’s a gift,

it’s up to her what she does with it.


but consider, beloved, count cost

count burdens and blessings

and bare trees holding hands

with blooms of Spring.


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