What's a poetry blog without poetry? Here's something I've been working on today, sans punctuation because that's always the last thing. Enjoy,
Matt
Almost always first the pear tree
Smelling like some stray dog you found on the side of the road
Starved but looking good, good, all white
And bobbing in a sea of new green
Then Daffodils, what you call Easter flowers
Clusters of Tiger Lily reeds
And the strange, familiar smell of warm growing things
Like cowshit, the effluvia of straw and wild onions
On the first day of sun
Real sun that melts like butter on your face
And days of rain too, with wind scattering the water
Across your neck almost like the salt spray of the ocean
And the tiny hairs sticking up for a moment
Just long enough for you to remember
The morning walk down the long hallway
Slouched a bit to hold your son's hand
Rows and rows of artwork covering the walls
Tiny handprints on colored construction paper
And in each classroom
Tucking a length of hair behind her ear
The teacher turns and bends among the children
The miniature tables and chairs
In the closest room, voices begin to sing
Good morning, good morning, good morning to you
The day is beginning, there's so much to do
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