The Months
by Linda Pastan, from The Last Uncle © W.W. Norton
March
When the Earl King came
to steal away the child
in Goethe's poem, the father said
don't be afraid,
it's just the wind...
As if it weren't the wind
that blows away the tender
fragments of this world—
leftover leaves in the corners
of the garden, a Lenten Rose
that thought it safe
to bloom so early.
April
In the pastel blur
of the garden,
the cherry
and redbud
shake rain
from their delicate
shoulders, as petals
of pink
dogwood
wash down the ditches
in dreamlike
rivers of color.
May
Mayapple, daffodil,
hyacinth, lily,
and by the front
porch steps
every billowing
shade of purple
and lavender lilac,
my mother's favorite flower,
sweet breath drifting through
the open windows:
perfume of memory-conduit
of spring.
A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown--
Who ponders this tremendous scene—
This whole Experiment of Green—
As if it were his own!
— Emily Dickinson
Azalea competing for eye-space in our backyard
Jar fountain in our almost-enclosed front garden
White dogwood flowers
afloat in leafing woods
untrouble my mind.
~ Wendell Berry
...experiment in green
Spring Madness
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