i think i can, i think i can
this is the season of
of waking from stupors and
like a woman about to go into labor;
like a poem about to go into the world.
listen to the busy
the child-hood tingling of the body,
stretching out into its beautiful firsts.
it has been happening all winter long –
deeply, quietly, pensively;
but now is the time of noisy
hammering, of outward hanging of shutters and doors,
of measuring and decorating and trimming and
shaking out of formerly silent surfaces:
a braided red rug poised for beating;
a painted flower pot posing for a picture.
these are necessities
some would call frivolities,
the restless little engines that fire
the heavy machinery of the year.
© 2014 Michelle Warner