It’s the Monday after Easter
when I realize I only have a
certain number of spring times left
Have you noticed?
It makes me want to drag my feet
and look closely at the spiderweb
sprawled across open air
I remember the need to take my shoes off,
marvel at the specific green that appears
for a day and then is gone
Teach me again to climb the trees
one hand over the other, one foot over other,
one scraped forgotten knee over the other
Let me lie down in the shade,
feel the sun dab her brush of watercolors
on my skin
Let me soak in the sound of the birds
who’ve come back for us year after year,
after winter, after despair— hope
It never fails us, somehow
Let me grab hold of it with both hands
I will not count down the springtimes
I have left on my hands
The promise of today is enough
This spring, the only one of its kind,
precious and holy and good, like a reminder,
like a gift with intent to delight
— olivia gwyn
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