Spring Cleaning

Poetry

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust: The Four Seasons-Spring 1849 by David Cox on Unsplash

There are days burlap feels like velvet to me,
and poetry tastes like champagne.
Other days feel empty and damp like rain.

I can drape your denim
upon branches of birch and hemlock,
in the desolate wind and broken sunshine,
and feel your presence,
like the upheaval in our airbrushed lives
tumbling dry.

Sometimes I wish we could fly away,
not like dragonflies or bees
or misunderstood dandelions breaking the breeze,
but like falcons
commanding the sky.
Imagine the intensity of our mutually ascended high.

I frame the clouds with whimsical borders,
past the barren, endless cold
refusing to release its unbending hold,
and dream for the poetry of sunshine
embroidered in spring.

© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.