False Spring

To mark the thaw (sort of) here in northeastern Ohio, and because I have had trouble posting something lately, I'll put this up. Surely one of the most cheerless things I have ever written. I wrote it years ago, when I lived in Washington, DC. It was January or February and we had a freakish day when the sun came out and the temperature got into the upper 70s.

The turf, the earth, the loamy smell of summer grass

Exulting in the mild air

Is what we recall one day in Winter

While still in our great coat and earmuffs,

When false spring turns parks full,

Turns us free, fluid in our unscarving,

Riotously shedding our skin.

This is the day like the dream

We were desperate not to forget

It was so good,

The dream we clasped by a watery rim

And lost when we awoke,

A dream we’ve learned to fear, so painful is the falling off.

You can see then what troubles the dissembling breeze

And humbles our unbundling struts,

What chill tremors pester the leafless trees

With a foretaste of sin,

Little lies curled in our breath like smoke,

Broken promises, regret, arthritic fears

Crippling the dilapidate streets

And all the winter bondage

That frigid winds of our waking require.