It's just poetry, it won't bite

scarcely spring


05.11.18 Posted in today's words by

Ariel Boswell is a nurse in Rochester, Minnesota.

scarcely spring
By Ariel Boswell

the sun’s arc shoots higher;
the light lingers,
the crisp air whispers warmth 

I pass the detritus
of winter’s receding snows:
the white smudge of dried salt,
dry bleached grass, a tangle of bush
spotted with paper wrappers
sometimes hidden by leaves,
a puddle of feathers—a fallen bird—
a soggy red mitten 

when the sun shines,
the remaining snowbanks
create roaring streams,
brown puddles
perfect for splashing in rainboots;
dogs’ paws are brown-tinted
from the water and mud

I watch the tea-colored runoff
surging down the street,
pouring into the cauldrons
of the sewer,
down, somewhere
to meet the rivers,
the ocean

and it’s only just begun,
this lengthening of days



Comments are closed.

Latest Podcast Episode
0:00
0:00
vox poetica archives