If Only It Were Spring


A photo by Jason Ortego. unsplash.com/photos/buF62ewDLcQ

I followed your footprints again today

I stopped and watched them trail off

They were straight and true; unwavering

And I saw that they led to that same sore place in my heart.

It doesn’t matter how many times

The papery birches lose and renew their leaves

Or the number of times the earth moons the moon

I am rooted in place, stunted and spindly.

I tell myself every Spring that this is The Spring

I will be reborn and redirected and reconstituted

But Spring sprints by me, and soon it is Winter

And I am so weary of lovelessness that the coming dark pins me in place.

I look at all the creatures large and small around me

That seem capable of flight and new beginnings

Of letting go of that which will never be a part of their future

And I think ‘if only it were Spring’.


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