The spring soil was so dry
the green that had shown up
in the few warm days
for the April party
was starting to pack up
and go back
dust was blowing around
and winter’s dun leavings
looked dead as bones
picked over by screeching ravens
the possibility of flowers
had become wretched plastic wrap
twisting on dead stems
that rattled against foundations
like last year’s snake moults

We were on the fourth or fifth
hand of an interminable
poker game when Alice shivered
would somebody close the
window I think I’m getting a cold
I had just about wrestled the prop
out of the sash when I noticed the drops
on the pane Hey it’s raining I said
then close the window Alice said
No I said it’s really raining
No shit she said and they all
came to the window to see

As fast as the drops spattered down
the green seemed to ignite
through the dun grass
onto the twigs then the branches
everywhere glowing green
as if spring decided to stay and
spread it all out for us
summer would come
the flowers would grow
I felt Alice inhale beside me
we were forgiven


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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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