"Spring, to me"

Spring, to me

Begins when the first daffodil

raises her yellow head,

And the rumbling ground bees

Burrow underground

Leaving a clay dome; home.

It's a discovery, like your eyes

Finding your toes the first time.

The postman waves (that's new),

And chalk scrawls across the walk:

"I love you mom. Your favorite, Sunny."

I wonder: Did Sunny's mom see it?

Sounds kaleidosope and there's

The squeak of wheels turning IDEAS.

A lawn mower coughs while

A lemonade stand stands empty.

This spring is different.

An urgency sweeps the air.

Their eyes ask, "Do you have it?

We wait for news,

you and me

And while we do,

we keep our daily route.

Slowly moving forward

Waiting for signs of life.

(I wrote this poem in the spring of 2020. Declan was 4 months old, and we had just learned of a strange new virus called Covid. Every day I'd put him in the stroller and we'd go on these walks. When everything else- sleep and feeding times and even the state of the world seemed to always be changing, those walks were a constant for me.)