Spring Tears
(in February)
It isn’t technically spring, but the northern flicker on my chimney cap this morning is already living like it is. My body is, too.
Spring tears are my favorite.
A formidable blend.
40% relief.
30% grief.
20% whimsy.
10% longing.
This is scientific, of course.
They water the tulips
planted by my mother’s shaking hands.
They smother the inferno
of self-doubt
that kept me warm
on blustery
winter nights.
They hydrate a parched
soul thirsty
for electrolytes.
They nourish the wildflowers
of hope
scattered
on the roadside.
I want to slow down
to taste them.
To watch them
evaporate off
my pale
winter skin.
To smell
the earth
they muddy.
I want to feel it all
this spring
Because if not,
why else am I here?
