Dreaming of the Coming Spring
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
They blossom, and then
We gaze, and then the blooms
Scatter, and then…
~ Onitsura
The tightness of the winter now is held
By her inside her hand. She holds it, wooden, like
A flower-painted totem. Fingers meld
Around it, almost, though much more a spike
Than cherry-blossom bough or blooming branch
Of white or pink. The petals that she dreams
Of open in the April air, a tranche
Of pastel, slight perfume, that streams
In coolness past the slanted daydream eyes.
Though far too young to yearn for hairy things
Of hardness decades later to surprise
Her, she now thinks of flower shapes like wings.
She then will offer softer tightness for
A firm and wingless man to make her soar.
~ Phillip Whidden
