I will not write love poetry this spring
even when the season makes the city giddy,
every block a white bosom bared,
the fluffy brevity of topless trees,
blank pages to pen an epic romance.
And I want to be eleven again,
climbing into the clouds
to squeeze the delicate blooms
that touch skin for the first time.
But, alas, I must resist the stirrings of spring–
the flirty birdsong through open window
as I brush my teeth to the timing,
then later stop myself from humming
ancient, glistening melodies.
And I want to be eight again,
falling from the nest.
Terrified of trial and error,
independent for the first time.
No, I must simply stop myself from admiring
the neighbor’s firm stalks–
daffodils and pussy willows,
soft caterpillars, ripe for new cocoons,
all tingly as tufts of newborn hair.
And I want that magical spring,
the newborn boy with tulip cheeks
arrived to twist a lock of hair
for the first time.
Not today, I say, as I cross the street
avoiding the erect form of Forsythia
flashing me from the corner,
all golden bells and whistles.
I catch a peek of sultry stem,
sunshine poking through the path.
And I want it to be that spring
the birds and bees had meaning,
unfiltered trust, longing
for the first time.
Foreswear this season;
I won’t be swayed.
Spring, you have no power over me.
I repeat this mantra, 1, 2, 3,
swallowing these inflorescent feelings.
© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved
The Artist: Tricia Newell studied Illustration and Graphic Design at Ipswich Art School. She is a talented freelance illustrator and printmaker.
She shares in her bio: “I would like to think that my work reflects a life which has been close to nature. I enjoy exploring the idea that we are just a small part of something much greater and nature is at the very core of everything.” Be sure to visit her website to explore her current works.
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