A poem for Monday

I'm all stimulus-response these days. One moment a dog will wag his tail and I feel elated, the next a biting wind takes hold and I hunker down into my coat, frowning, embittered. Winter commands me to be wholly present in these multifarious disconnected moments. Pleasures take hold suddenly and seem in that moment rich and endless, but are chased away quickly and replaced with the next feeling, the next response. With nothing constant except the straining to see buds push through earth and through bark, tender shades of green that darken too quickly... This is by Marie Ponsot.

Half Full
outside in
grief rage grey pain
bright pain
this is it the
worst cold spring
lost tired with too much to do
no time to fix the garden
no money
no friend
a pain in the gut
no good love
this is it the
bleak hurting year
I guess a lot of years
got me in to.

at noon of the long day
flat out taking time to catch my breath
under the butterfly drift
of apple petals I see the many
spears and heads of perennials
coming up! strong green
well I even see
lots of buds on that delicate
difficult old gorgeously
fireflowered
peony tree
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