SP R I N G O N L AKE M ICH IG AN Lisa Fosmo I would like to say to you, dear bringer of new. The one holding a pinecone in the cold early newness of spring. There bundled in awkwardness from the corner of the earths room. Though I never told you, you are my favorite season. My favorite smell as I breathe in the birth of new. listen to birds arriving,shooting like stars across the night sky, on a feathered whim. The ice seems to be riding a floor jack, rising till it will break. There must be a crack somewhere. Where the rivers thaw has entered spilling beneath the crust like a secret. Waiting to break out onto hurried waters, but I can see no breaks. Only in the night I hear the war of winter losing its battle to spring. The sound like gunfire. The loud thunder of ice popping. And I’m taking sides. I’m routing for spring. Praying this new ruler won’t turn. praying she won’t spill waters in her hurry. praying she heeds her time. knowing, no one has loved her better or more. Until winter comes again, with all the elegance of a new bride. And we will love her all the more all over again. But as for today I wait for that moment, where once again; I will hear the roar of rushing waters into the thaw of waves crashing. The very sound that rattles heaven door. 3/2019 ©Lisa Fosmo
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