I did the thing I was afraid to do.
I didn’t know I was afraid to do it,
but I was putting it off.
I guess, since I’m not too dramatic,
that’s what fear looks like.
When I realized that’s what it was,
I told myself not to be afraid
and I did it
and it was not so bad at all.
This week is sun and melting snow
and mud and squishy-toeing
and if the sun keeps beaming down
the grass will soon be growing.
But, you know what else already
grows just like a weed?
My list of things to do inside,
for I’ve a soul to feed.
It’s not so bad to hunker down
and do what must be done
for about a week and a half.
And then we yearn for fun.
A box of fancy chocolates
would make your sweetheart sigh,
but love is a bucket of safety gear
for days you work up high.
Narrow lots and alleys,
front porches and cracked plaster–
this is how to get to know your neighbors.
When spring comes to your part of the world,
so will poetry to your mind.
Spring is just made of poetry.
But the warm south breeze will blow all the paper away
and you won’t be able to write any of it down.
You were working,
I was sleeping,
You were earning,
I was keeping
track of everything at home.
Yesterday, I brought home bacon,
but you, my love, were barely here.
When you come home from work today,
the sound of bacon will fill your ears.
I’m colder than I’ve been all winter.
We turned the furnace off to work
on dusty things like paint and plaster.
I hear the birds beyond these panes
confirming that the world is changing:
the dining room is getting done
and quickly, hopefully, spring has come.
It’s good to talk atop a hill
with the city spread below.
We see some ridges where we’ve been
and many places we don’t know.
They don’t make dust masks for toddlers,
at least not that I know.
And so, for this whole Saturday,
to Grandma’s you must go.