Spring in Montreal

is a breech birth

we can feel it coming

We can feel the earth groaning,

absorbing the ice and snow

of months of frigid darkness.

The sun, its warmth

no longer faint, fickle, theoretical

coaxes, wheedles the first snowdrops, crocuses.

These are never picked.

Now come the shoots of daffodils and tulips

and grass, that universal miracle

appears.

The sound of hardy birds but still not a leaf.

A few closed buds along a twig

and heavy rain –the waters breaking

cold and painful.

The brave yellow blooms

stand against a meagre unkind frost

one night.

And then, sap drips from a vine

and the whole city knows

a long warm day

with magnolias, pink or white like waxy cups or earth stars

opening on the leafless branches.

The moon rises soft and silvery

over the city blessed by newborn Spring.