The in-between
Poetry Journal April
11, 2024
We’re stuck in the in-between
That time when we must suffer
The last chilly breath of winter
Before spring fully embraces us
With its breath of warmth
Bits of rain dotting the windows
And screens (too soon installed
With the high hopes that
The ground hog was right)
And the leaves of grass decorated
With glittering drops
Clear pearls, a treasure of rebirth,
We get with the passing of Easter,
More ancient even that Christ,
Perhaps more primitive, too,
A sacred ritual we do not perform
But instead, is performed for us
By Mother Nature as if we
Celebrate her life as well as our own,
Not yet, a heavy rain
(it has done so other weeks and feeling now
As if she has run out of tears to shed
Over the demise of winter and lets us breath a bit
Basking in its last testament.
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