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
20 32 ICSA TODAY
I decided
to stop waiting.
Why should I continue to be
the good little girl
who waits her turn
follows the rules
and celebrates in season:
appropriately, wisely, prudently
**
I decided:
I will make my own Spring.
It will be imprudent,
Wild,
Uncontrolled
My Spring will have no boundaries
It will spill into everything,
run all the year through
each and every year full out
And in my Spring,
the one I conceive in my imagination,
the one I create
and will into being
In my Spring, all will be welcome:
the mangled, the broken
the damaged, the bent
the old,
the sad,
the lonely
All will be welcome
to come and dance,
twirl in the Spring rain
Unrepentant
Irreverent
Proud
under the sweet, soft, grace-filled showers
of the survivor’s spring
The survivor’s spring:
Seasonless.
*from Lucille Clifton
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