4.01.2019

Unlike Emily Dickinson


Truth is
I am not ready for Spring
with her fragrant
beginnings
preferring to dwell in Winter
slow-flowing under ice
dormant like heredity
characteristically sullen
refusing Sustenance
the possibility of freezing
and endings


Speaking of possibilities, it’s Poetry Month! 
Follow along in the Imaginary Garden:  APRIL COME SHE WILL