Tuesday, May 13, 2014

The Forsythia Nebula

Through this especially bitter winter
I need to focus on the little things
the buttery kouigh amann
that flaked in my fingers as I sat behind
the fogged-over windows of the coffee shop
the three-legged cat that hurled itself
to the pavement at my feet, begging me to rub
its fuzzy belly beneath the streetlamp
that film, that book, that song,
that conversation with my mom
which was so precious not because of its content
but because it was even possible
I’ve been so busy being miserable
I didn’t even look up to notice that
the crocuses were starting to poke up
through the grass, that suddenly
the world is aglow with flickering
lanterns of daffodils, bushes filled
with twinkling constellations

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