Covet

Triptych for Early Spring

48 Triptych for Early Spring I. Thaw The usual confusions of birdsong and snowpile these lengthening days of thaw and freeze. Grind of snow sliding from the slate roof, plash of wet earth once frozen into trace of boot tramp, tire track. A slick of ice at the downspout’s lip by afternoon liquid, and at the mailbox— spit of sleet against my cheek. Metal clang of waiting. 49 II. Wound Winter, now through it, but I don’t see it until green, pearling like blood at the pricked end of a finger, shines from a dark pot. So, the questions of birdsong erratic and startled at the end of day, and lawns furred in lilac, white—brave bandage of snowdrop, crocus, violet, and at the curb, the rose bush begging its necessary violence, the brittle canes hacked into bloom. 50 III. Pledge Early in the week, just switches— knotted whips, a skeletal spray— now the forsythia in full yellow craze blinds my drive, bristles to attention in a breeze, sudden and chill, and by Sunday, shattered, given over to the patient green of privacy, of ordinary pain. ...