Tenth entry: Spring

Seeing the faces of four distinct seasons is something new to me. Once again, being abroad has proven a refreshing change of pace.

I once said April

I once said April
not knowing what it meant at the time.
Her name sounded no different from the others
in that single, vague season,
and if there was hail or thunder,
it might be anytime between now
and winter.

I once said April
on North Texas soil.
Just as my eyes would get lost on the horizon,
her name was never a conscious thought:
simply a quiet part of that big world
full of papers and red ink
and long grocery lists.

I once said April
when everything was the same.
Before I knew it, her name became June
by late May, and as summer burned,
she left only brief memories
on allergy prescriptions
and tax returns.



I can say April
while looking into her eyes.
In another tongue, her name means
more than thirty days: where clichés bloom
and myths become real on green-scented afternoons,
I remember that I once spoke routine
and welcome change.


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