XII. A Claim (Waiting on the First Day of Spring, Reprise)
Easter Sunday
reminded me
of words I wrote
mere weeks before,
and I would dream
that the message
of those words should
echo, making
a claim on me,
on you, on all.
Waiting on the First Day of Spring
The first day of Spring has no memory
of our childhood dreams, or of our first loves.
There will always be cracks in the sidewalk
that need mending and care—cracks where the weeds
will sprout next Thursday, after springtime rain.
The weeds will grow and flower, widening
the cracks, and we will hack at them once more—
not seeing in them the glory of Spring
that we see in tulips and daffodils
whose bulbs we planted, and forgot, last Fall.
For the weeds, however, the sidewalk cracks
are childhood dream and first love all in one,
but we will dare to pull them and hoe them.
Then, having battered a reluctant world
into grim compliance, we will wonder
why we are not happy. Our childhood dreams
were not lost in those sidewalk cracks. Nor were
our first loves—but do we remember them?—
the one for whom we picked that flower-weed
at five years old, thinking only of them,
whose innocence and beauty are lost now,
except in memory? The circle turns,
and we must be ready to face the end—
a paradox, perhaps—while we are waiting
for the cracks to be filled. But when the rain
comes, will we forget all that, and just watch
the endless raindrops drumming on the walk?
When everything has been taken from us,
we will find that there is still something left.
When everything comes full circle, once more,
we will learn that the circle has no end.
For, though we have not become young again,
we have another chance to see the world
with the eyes that looked out at five years old,
and there—through the springtime rain—we will see
our childhood dreams, and our first loves, waiting.
Would that it were so.
Are we still living?
---
BrianIs 
AtYou
Reply With Quote
Originally Posted by BrianIsSmilingAtYou
