Spring 1993


We are cynical in spring

So bitter about the winter past:

The cold snow between our footprints

That crept over the top of our boots.

Violated by ice, we seek out its crystals

Blowing them with our hot breath

Cursing them with our sad hate,

Ignoring the timid Southern breeze

That tickles the back of our necks.

We are looking for an antidote for ice,

Not a sprout of miraculous green,

And April's tears are not enough.

Sally Clay
April 19, 1993

*** Sharewrite 2005 Sally Clay ***
Permission is granted for personal distribution of this document
as long as it is unchanged in any way and this notice is included.
For permission to reprint it for general publication, contact me at
zangmo@sallyclay.net.

 


Back to Poems