Tuesday, April 9, 2019

April snow? Been there, done that! Next!

About half of recent years have looked like this:

April 19, 2013 snow
April 19, 2013 snow
Photo by J. Harrington


April 4, 2014 snow
April 4, 2014 snow
Photo by J. Harrington


April 17, 2014 snow
April 17, 2014 snow
Photo by J. Harrington


April 3, 2018 snow with purple finches
April 3, 2018 snow with purple finches
Photo by J. Harrington



Spring Snow



A kind of counter- 
blossoming, diversionary, 

doomed, and like 
the needle with its drop 

of blood a little 
too transparently in 

love with doom, takes 
issue with the season: Not 

(the serviceberry bright 
with explanation) not 

(the redbud unspooling 
its silks) I know I've read 

the book but not (the lilac, 
the larch) quite yet, I still 

have one more card to 
play. Behold 

a six-hour wonder: six 
new inches bedecking the 

railing, the bench, the top 
of the circular table like 

a risen cake. The saplings 
made (who little thought 

what beauty weighs) to bow 
before their elders. 

The moment bears more 
than the usual signs of its own 

demise, but isn't that 
the bravery? Built 

on nothing but the self- 
same knots of air 

and ice. Already 
the lip of it riddled 

with flaws, a sort 
of vascular lesion that 

betokens—what? betokens 
the gathering return 

to elementals. (She 
was frightened 

for a minute, who had 
planned to be so calm.) 

A dripline scoring 
the edge of the walk. 

The cotton batting blown 
against the screen begun 

to pill and molt. (Who 
clothed them out of 

mercy in the skins 
of beasts.) And even 

as the last of the 
lightness continues 

to fall, the seepage 
underneath has gained 

momentum. (So that 
there must have been a 

death before 
the death we call the 

first or what became 
of them, the ones 

whose skins were taken.) 
Now the more- 

of-casting-backward-than-of- 
forward part, which must 

have happened while I wasn't 
looking or was looking 

at the skinning knives. I think 
I'll call this mercy too.


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