Who Can Think of Spring?

I often think about the still-born spring, three years ago, when it seemed like nothing would ever grow again—not even in our woods. The woods were lost girl met lost girl, years and years ago. We decided that it was safest to believe in magic to find the way through. We lifted moss-colored words from the banks of our creek to line our path and tucked stories into trees. 

I wonder if the trees notice you are gone, when I go to pick up scraps of memories caught in the brambles by the creek. I wonder what the creek thinks when I try to weave those scraps into something recognizable, something that makes sense. Spring green should not be the color of grief, but even now, in the spaces where growth is undeniable, spring always arrives late for me. 

 

who can think of spring
while grieving the one flower
that will not grow back




Song choice: Gavi's Song by Lindsey Stirling

Liner notes for this Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storyteller United's Friday Writings Prompt, In Memoriam.

Libra Moon

The Libra moon doesn’t know her own strength

—the gravitational pull of her sideways smile
drawing in strange and unasked for tides.
But she will always shine for herself first.



Liner Notes For This Groove: This poem is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writing.