a poem for spring

The voice of spring.

Thunder time, spring

It's been missing for a

few sweet seasons now.

The crack pop dash

the smell of new lightening ash.

Red umbrella tulips and

pitter / patter

trekking through the rainy delight -

Morning in May, a tiny relief

drip, drop.

Our dear mother earth, cool off.

"I pray to god you children get it" she

exclaims and with that

there comes a heavy rain.

Still cars roll by their

tires scraping off the evergreen and

rosemary scented billow.

The cows grow twice in time,

next in line.

The sterile expansion, the

misstep, the

smell of trading gasoline.

Animal crackers, red rover,

springtime packaged to your

liking - please bring rover home.

"Within it all you must find stillness"

she explains -

I smile and she sometimes smiles back

when she can find the strength.

Even in dessert sand there sits a child who knows silence.

The saturated

soil, dirt, mud,

the thickened earth worm and

slippery slug.

Moss.

Those that have been missing for years.

Thunderstorms rolling in and testing

the rapid movement of air, cloud and sky.

the natural world's boom -

making sound once again.

Broken bonds,

can only reunite with trust.

Because for every tire,

for every burning leaf an

oak still stands proud in remembrance.

Baby pines planted are just starting out their

life under the pink spotted moon,

breathing in and exhaling

a sigh of relief.

In the morning rain I

recall the beauty of our great mother.

I try to get close to her heartbeat,

to recall my own -

to listen

when she says,

"It's not too late - there is still time left.

Listen to one another, listen to my

deep hardy voice, listen."

-- Erica Mazzeo