Happy Friday Readers! Here’s a fact about me: I honestly love change, but it doesn’t always love me back. I am especially enamored with the way the four seasons shift and tilt into one another, and during a change of season I always feel especially inspired to explore this predictable phenomenon in novel ways. Today’s poem is about weighing one season’s cost against that of another, and I hope you enjoy it (pairs well with a sip of an old fashioned).
Whiskey Season Wanes
My grey wool coat begs to be laid in her temporary grave. My friend laughs over a baby’s breath cocktail about how badly her shoulders need the graze of the sun. As I walk to the train, Spring sprinkles its unfettered recompense on some daisies just for me. The weekends yawn and stretch into 75 degrees but then Tuesday slants back with a snarky snap to 45 and I dutifully slip on my turtleneck again. I take a moment to steady myself for the violence of blooms cutting up through the cracked ground into daylight. Something tilts – tangerine sunshine breaks one morning, eradicating bleakness. I hear the crunch of tulip stems against my kitchen scissors and opt to adore it. But is the beauty of Spring worth the pain of its preparation? The jarred juxtaposition of cost the cutting for the curling the umber for the fuchsia the whimper of February for the melody of May. Is the ephemeral bursting worth the steady desolation? I am still deciding … But I appease my coat’s longing for retirement and let the jar of bitters collect dust for all of June.
‘Til next time,
Maddie