Monday, April 6, 2020

Spring, All At Once

Enter Persephone from the Netherworld

when the Equinox is Vernal

and April is busting out all over on the desert floor.

Lit bulbs called poppy, called hyacinth or tulip.

Technicolor urgency / emergency in their fabulous rising

into fables of resurrection, insurrection, erection

as in testaments from testicles (swear to God),

horizontal across forty years or vertical as in 

Easter like yeast, a souffle rising, leavened /

unleavened with bitter herbs and shank bone

as sweet chariots swing low.

No time for corn rye sliced with seeds,

but yes, seeds, for homelands and turning cheeks

for renewal, for overthrow of exhausted words.

Pagans as in peasants started it with awe

and gratitude. How spring is sprung another year.

Eliot knew how cruel April could be

turning dead roots into petals 

turned treacherous into particles,

their tribe increased in our soil. Banish them 

in a miracle exodus as in a C.B. DeMille movie

so we may once more gather in observance.

Rather than eggs or the prescribed plate

I’ll take wildflowers as my promised land.
Listen to the trumpet in the daffodil, 

the saxophone in the foxglove.

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