Lat year I wrote the poem, "Spring Already" in early March, this year it feels like "Spring Finally." Such a build up, I can't bear another wool sweater or sock! Hope this finds you in petals :)
I worry this is madness,
on my hands and knees
scrubbing behind the toilet at midnight,
succumbing when the spice drawer riots for order
and then the poems come,
each solid as a freight car,
the train stretching as far as I can see.
I worry I am tipping into mania,
will be jumping off bridges
imagining I can fly.
This is what the maples might feel,
the dandy daffodils who organize themselves
in ready bouquets at fence posts certainly must.
The robins are crazed on the roadside,
double dare one another to fly in front of my car,
the cherry tree buds are garlands of rosaries.
I have a therapy appointment
Tuesdays at noon.
My therapist works from home,
I notice fresh shavings in the chicken coop.
I tell him my worries about genetics,
bi-polar brother, moody mother.
You haven’t lost your marbles yet he ventures,
what if you just feel it,
It is buzzy and swirly I describe.
"YOU are buzzy and swirly," he coaches.
I feel like I could shoot lasers
from my palms I shyly venture.
He coaxes, "Then shoot lasers from your palms."