poems


at last we are through the startup
the frantic pace of September
with all its thrilling roller coasters singing
up and down along the rails
let us inhale deeply
smell the leaves
(falling now)
smell the last cut of grass
the last breath of summer
and then sing the long note
that takes us to the still silence
of winter.

my fingertips smell of magnolias and I
can’t get the fresh air out of my nose it’s a
wonderful persistence this crazy
immediate arrival of spring
I see nothing wrong with
the ides of march it seems lovely and warm
and my fingers smell
of the magnolia I carelessly caressed
(didn’t care who saw)
in front of the hospital,
god and everyone just
me and the sweet flower that
brought me back to my neice
her father
the swing on the magnolia
back to India
to Ottawa in the springtime
and here, just here,
the sweet scent clinging to my skin
in front of god and everyone
today,
on the way home.

The grey is getting thinner.
Things are like that here,
impossibilities feeding unliklihoods until
anything can happen.
I didn’t know it was possible but
texture bulges from the blanket overhead
stretches and pulls
taffy, until you can almost
see
through.
This old grey quilt is tired and worn,
soft places rubbed thin let warmth out
light in
as color returns,
the scrim lifts and grey becomes vibrant green,
shocking yellow,
red buds insist
on swelling and
nothing not even more rain
can quench the brilliance unlocked.
Cold comes
warmth comes,
but the light is returning
and that is the truest hope
for spring.




leaf

Originally uploaded by ellaris.

new beginnings like
mirrors in water droplets
splash! they come; splash! gone.