Tuesday, April 17, 2007

This Year

Spring isn’t coming.
The tulip shoots, only
A few inches high
Have turned, curled in
On themselves and
Sunk head-first
Into the ground.

The leafless trees
Will not bud. Old white
Leaves still hang
On a few forest branches,
Old, bleached, white:
Last year’s bones.

The maple’s bark is
Dry and gray; all of its
Color has leeched into the soil
And the world is winding down
And we are falling off
One by one.

C. Bronco


Bernita said...

Feels like it.
Actually yesterday I was able to walk out without forty pounds of parka weighing me down.

Cynthia Bronco said...

Every day I drive through a piece of woods, and each spring a few trees hang onto those old white leaves until the new buds come in.
I put this poem up because I was thinking about all those at Virginia Tech, the sadness and the loss.