APRIL INDEED
James Backstrom
After the storm
cherry blossoms rust
on the ground under branches barely leafing
and catkins of red alder
roll higgledy-piggledy
beneath our feet as we walk along the road.
Spring began in the half sun of an uncertain dawn
with the slow opening
of blood current and trillium.
The cows in pastures of the Machias
valley grazed north
on yellow-green shoots
of new promise.
I gave my word
to cut the grass in the afternoon
and everything was stained green—
my hands, my boots,
even the sweet breeze,
but by evening
spring left us to our small hopes.
Sleet and rain
all night and into a morning so dark
we nearly slept through our alarms.
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