Three days

I took a short journey north, during which there was a great deal of rain; and when I returned, the redbud trees had bloomed and the goldfinches had molted into their bright yellow plumage.

So I have three days of poem drafts to post.

~

Passover

The first holiday without,

grief burns like anger.

Irritant. Tough fibers

scraping at skin raise a rash,

sore during celebration.

Empty ritual this year.

Empty place at the table–

bitter, bitter herbs.

~

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Visual Trick

Along tree line’s haze

of new growth, the blur–

lichen-covered boughs,

white-flowering branches.

Sky’s cloudy, grass strewn

with petals might almost

be snow, but goldfinch

perches yellow on beech’s

recalcitrant twigs.

Not snow but Spring.

~

~

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**

The drive isn’t always pleasant:

too much traffic, too much rain,

too many miles between friends,

but I will accompany you.

Mutual miles, mutual acquaintances–

though much impedes marriage,

true minds admit true friends into

the equation, complex and contradictory,

at which we work consistently;

they are our common denominators.

~

 

**Photo by Lukas Rychvalsky on Pexels.com