a short poem for the end of winter

I wrote these words down one quiet afternoon when we were staying in a friend's guest house in Midway in late February.


We stayed in the treetops for three weeks. Each day, we would wake to the sun streaming in earlier through the windows.

We watched your orchid bloom and the first lion of March roar past. We picked at the knot holding back spring.

The jonquils are rising, the maples burning. Your succulents are climbing up through the pine straw. There are stories here. The ladybugs are flying against the glass panes, aching to fly out into the warming air.