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The poems

© 2010-2013

spring

I used to welcome spring
In part because it meant
You weren’t cold
Left to the elements, you would be
At worst, wet or sunburned
I remember the day you came to me
With the top down on the convertible
Begging for sunscreen
I brought it down to you
Then went back to painting the banister
And sent you back out to the wolves
Wolves not all of your own making
And after you drove away
I sat down on the deck
Paintbrush in hand
And cried until I couldn’t breathe

Life is never simple
Nor the answers black and white
And there is nothing fair about death
So it was ironic
That you died in spring
Just as the summer days were coming
You died in sunlight
Under a mild sky and a warm wind
Life plays tricks on us
Or is it death
We are not necessarily
Carried away by predictability
Still, I was glad you were not cold
I hope you passed into the dusk
Aware of the warmth of summer
And the love that follows you everywhere
Even in the dead of winter