Kenneth Karrer’s most recent poem here (So Who Will Teach My Sons the Dance) was featured as part of Contributor Series 4: Aspects of the Elephant. His previous work here (Advice to Albert on Our Relativity,Trick or Treat With Pets [How my Dog sees Halloween]) makes wonderful use of affectionate humor. What is it about spring that has so many writers all up in a frenzy?
It Happens Every Spring
By Kenneth Karrer
By Kenneth Karrer
She is ready
moist and supine
stretched out before in
patient wait.
Expectant seed will
now be spread
by husband hordes in caps
on this appointed date.
They come with tools to
scratch her back.
And pluck offending growth.
Fresh from winter naps.
They lay the corners down
and surely square them up.
Then gently build and
form the middle mound
Pack it down and smooth
by hand.
This is soon to be the sacred land
surpliced in green.
Then come so many pairs of
little feet
to dance upon her belly,
Wearing paths and leaving divots
waxed paper wrapped round jelly.
They scream, “Play ball!”
and play until the weeds
wait upon the edges
when heat and dryness come
it’s then that they desert
but never really leave
just a momentary season of reprieve.
A salutary sleep
well earned.
She sighs
And covers up again.
They’ve promised to be back by Spring.
I love this.
Mystical.