Or or perhaps I should say task mistress. There is something feminine about this business of constantly returning to see if life can triumph over death, love over callous indifference. No it is not acceptable to keep on inviting, to keep on approaching something or someone who offers no encouragement. Why keep on submitting those poems. How laughable. Have you ever had one published? Why keep suggesting meetings, lunches, outings? Had she ever shown the slightest interest? Why keep on applying for jobs you never get or practicing the violin? How many times can you play ” twinkle twinkle”? Many, many times it would appear. Like an annoying cat that keeps on sidling up in spite of your allergies, or like this little leaf emerging late from what looked like a dead branch, sometimes hope gives us a little surprise. Random rewards the psychologists call them. The most effective way of making one keep up these silly and hopeless hopeful things. This much for today
Such a little space, after all. Such a narrow city yard and yet
Blessed with the scent of daffodils. Rave
about the scent of roses, or of lilac.
But that smell of sap, rain, green Spring essence
is the most precious of all.
Without this golden key
the treasure of sun, warmth, summer cannot be unlocked..
The golden trumpet, now hybridized into white or pink blooms
still retains the power, the earth rooted intoxication
the scent that I inhale over and over again.
Yes, yes, it whispers.
It is here, grey skies or not, rain and sickly puddles
in the lane.
I know, I tell you, it is here.
A few more days and you can admire your
tulips and lilies and phlox to your heart’s content.
I am here
I have come. I’ll bring them all in.
In to the little city garden. Soon to be full of blooms so people stop and stare
as they walk their dogs or take a short cut
They never look at me.
But you, city gardener, you look and you see
And again, this year, this new spring,
you taste that sappy spring smell