Yard Poem

March 22, 1991|By Barbara M. Simon

I am taken by the sun

this early spring morning

that spreads

about the small space

that defines

the world I chose

to know. It's what is about becoming:

jonquil, forsythia -- bright

as light, flowers encourage

trust; I want

to believe shadows promise

luxury, relief

from the ache of light

that forces life. Beyond

the fence

a snarl of green

then city, streets

scrabbling from night,

gutters that blossom trash,

light a cheat; shadows a con.

Everything moves.

Nothing grows.

I gather the first blooming quince,

petals pale as lips

to place in a brash blue vase

that echoes the sky. Indifference

informs these days

we enclose

in worlds of our own.

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