Daisies

Ring around the roses
but you pick daisies

not in season, these flowers
that are a wild spring breathing

daisies, daisies
denting on your window

this is age, you sleep
with the daisies looking after you

breathing.

the light of Easter

Believe it or not,
this is how the light disperses
exploding out of death
to rise, on Easter

Our mothers

Superheroes, without capes
under-celebrated, even when we give flowers
our mothers

Clean, lit place

Over the desks, clear
with a space for the thoughts to arrive
like a bullet train heading to a known destination

Winter cleaning

To mop away, the blue hour
the leftover soap not in dishes
this is the warming spring
creeping over the last bits of our winter

a good green seed

You see the good green seed,

Knowing

The sun with its burning glory is hiding behind gray clouds 

Poppies and thistle

In the fields, were poppies, last week
today all I found standing was leaves
the poppies have withered
at the hands of the purple thistle,
much like me and you.

green hand

once spring made the trees glitter green
at your touch, you said, a green hand makes the soil grow
long held out the grass is yellow in the garden
it misses your green hand

a short springy feeling

There's something about spring

the way your skin covers around it 

making the folds tight for the sun to arrive 

my right hand, itchy, 

fails me at touching back those 

that touch me

if I told my mother 

I would imagine her laughing 

with a sound so loud my ears will shake 

to the act that was once boiled on a grandmother's chest

that spring touching us is green, like money

like things used once and never fully 

left behind