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Sharon A sort of patchwork -suit case full -or palimpsests thrown in -or is it too early in the morning for me! Cheers P -----Original Message----- From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of sharon brogan Sent: 03 April 2013 23:47 To: [log in to unmask] Subject: um. a poem. maybe? * Ode to April The waxwings have come and gone. Blue stars open in the garden, a blue deeper than dusk. Seasonal worries are still a ways off: flooding rivers, drought in the fields, fire in dry woods. Fire leaping across the tops of trees, toward town. For now, as distant as World War III, and as close. We turn off our furnaces, shake out the rugs, sweep the bare floors. The ash trees, bereft of berries, push out buds. Squirrels dig in the unfrozen flower beds, searching out remnants of last year's treasures. The house cat watches from the window. What do seasons mean to her? In an old woman's memory, these years blur together. Once there were young men, piled like kindling, hard as seasoned wood. All gone now. * -- sharon brogan http://www.sbpoet.com http://www.sbpoet.net http://smallpoems.sbpoet.net 406.578.1788