Thursday, March 14, 2013

I wait for forsythia


There are signs of spring: snow melt, robin return.  The mallard orange feet across the way are brighter.  I wonder if the females are attracted to brighter feet.  I wait for the first yellow spray of forsythia in the back bushes.  Soon.

I peruse the possibility of forsythia
In the back bushes,
Wait for that first trace of yellow.
The scarlet cardinal
Flits through.
The male ducks across the way
Are spring bright:
Heads more green,
Feet more orange.
I wait for forsythia
To show itself bright,
Yellow in the sun.
I will clip enough branches
To blossom
In the new red kitchen.

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