19.
I brushed away the cobweb
you’d left by the door
and I opened the door
to let that most wonderful
first warm air of spring inside.
I stood outside myself
letting it run over
my own body too long cold.
This wave of April,
yearly repeated miracle,
pushes us like a seed
green from the cold ground,
believing that the winter
will not come again.
We so quickly forget the cold
in remembering this warm breeze.
I stood in the yard,
face to the sun,
near sprouting leaves of my own
there in the still-brown yard.
You came to the open door and
felt the spring returning
the warm moist air
like a part of your skin.
You pushed back your hair
and sniffed the air.
You yelled, “Who
left the door open?”
before turning your face
to the sun.
