First of April
The chilly rain has not drowned my love,
Which pushes up through the crystals of
ice,
The clay, leaf mulch, winter’s debris,
Pushes up toward the great warmth
And light of your love
And life . . .
And
presents you
With a strange bouquet—fragrant
daffodils,
Snowdrops, crocus, forsythia . . .
And
yes, another, rougher bouquet,
Survivors that we love for their very
toughness,
Fidelity in the harshest environments—
Skunk cabbage, the fungi, the unloved
and unhandsome.
So there! A bouquet for you,
From my hands and my strange heart,
As beautiful and clashing
As the life emerging this early spring.
Bob Coughlin / March 31, 2017
