Spring Will Leave You Behind
The thaw has drawn the robins, ravenous, eager
for things that creep, while terra firma teases
with wafts of geosmin, hints of the hocus-pocus
that brought the thundershower, woke the crocus,
and coaxed the chorus frogs to call, which breezes
convey like news. They’ve lived through winter’s meager
provisions, trilling the nip out of their blood.
A cattail pond I walk by every day,
already stirs with cyan, orange, gold
and reddish shapes. Your hypothermic hold
diminishes with each and every ray
that touches fur and feather, flower and bud.
I watch a balancing act above as chill
as were your rime-caked eyes: a soaring hawk,
its wings as motionless as your emotions,
scans the fields for mice. No magic potions
will bring you back. You’ve vanished in the talk
of the towhee and the whistling whip-poor-will.
by Martin J. Elster
Editor’s Note: This poem’s abccba rhyme scheme echoes the Dream Songs of Berryman, but without the uneven stresses. The form gives the poem a sense of structure not immediately apparent on the first read. Spring is always caught between winter and summer: a balancing act, much like the rhyme balanced between lines.