30 ICSA TODAY
Arts: Poetry
A Survivor’s Spring
I never liked Spring
never felt there was a place for me
in her pageantry
I never liked Spring
never felt I fit in
She, with her tight, exquisite buds
perfectly formed, pristine, green
and me, so damaged and bloody,
broken
and spilling out the sides
sloppy and smelly and tainted somehow
I never liked Spring
she taunted me like the mean girls at school
**
I never liked Spring
though I longed for Spring
one I could fit into
a Spring that would have me
see me
celebrate me in her displays
**
I waited and waited for a Spring like that
waited
and waited
“patient as a nun for the second coming”*
compliant,
I followed all the rules
and waited
But Spring takes no prisoners
you fit in
or you are banished
I grew old, waiting
Now, old and tired and sagging and sad
I thought
Spring has surely passed me by
***
This year, in my city, she was late
the lady, Spring
the debutante
ever-perfect
and entitled
She missed her cue!
2119
By Mary O’Connell
All March and throughout April
she declined to show her face
The people were mad for her
still, she withheld her favors
she showed her cruel side
and they grew desperate and hurt
and then,
angered
But the weather held against her
and Spring, so privileged
who’d never had to lift a hand to make an effort
was forced to struggle through storms and wind
unusual formations,
inclement
unseasonable
unfriendly
cold
She had to be demanding, even raucous, and
fight to be heard
When she finally arrived
only a few days left
to perform
she was
different,
somehow
not so delicate
or soft-voiced
not untouched
no longer pristine
She was fulsome, even randy
not coy,
but eager
Her buds, like nipples, pushed out urgently overnight
a street cat of a Spring
caterwauling in the alley
It reminded me
that
If only for one day
Spring is spring:
worth ditching class for
leaving work early
setting chores aside
and breathing in
as deeply as possible
that vivid, living smell of
earth
**
VOLUME 9 |ISSUE 3 |2018
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