Beckoning in silver bark that defies the spring snow,
She shows me tender unfurling catkin
cascading from her skin,
preparing for seed,
which will burst
and float
and fill
the air,
spring siblings of this
thick snow
falling from her
in corn broomed clumps
that smack
as they land.
Together
we chase away
this procrastinating winter
fill the air with a little more time
for tender things to grow brave.
For both of our skins to fill with vein, with seed.
Aurora Passin (she/her) is a middle-aged queer poet living in the Denver, Colorado metro area. She explores nature and long-term chronic illness through poetry.
Commentaires