It’s still National Poetry Month, which means it’s still April. Yet, it snowed last night.
I awoke to a world of lightness and heaviness. As I walked our dog, a poem tugged at my brain.
by Amanda Cook
The morning after
The still air stings with no
Sense of direction
The dogwood blossoms,
Blood spots tipping their cream petals,
Shimmer like ripe, plump pearls
The redbuds’ tourmalines pink out
From clumps of white crystal
Their diminutive weeping
Willow branches revering
The tiny butterweed flowers
With yellow eyes downcast
Discovering their roots
And our dear silver beech
Her imperious expression shawled by
Curls dusted in white
They hold their breath,
Caught warm in yesterday’s sunlight.
Mourning birds gossip
Among burdened branches
In the distance, commuters barrel
Through their lives
Obscured by masks as thin as
Late April snow
Holding their breath
copyright (c) Amanda Cook, 2021
By noon, most of the snow had fallen away, and the plants were mostly upright again.
It’s supposed to freeze overnight again, and then warmer weather is on its way. Again.
Thanks for reading.
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