... And Now It Is May Again

I was in the car, riding shotgun
listening to a song that sounded like summer
like tires rolling over hot asphalt
like mud stuck to the bottom of a murky pond
like a brain freeze from the coveted chill of ice cream
as sun danced across the dashboard
as the wind toyed with my hair
and fragments of a poem drifted in and out of my mind.
I felt spring course through my veins, 
I saw its warmth in the sunlight bouncing against the open car windows
felt it in the freshness of the air
heard it from the birds, singing in flowering trees.
And for once, I thought
There's no place I'd rather be.
It had been a long winter, and I was tired of the snow, 
the never-ending chill that had settled in my bones –
how long had it been?
Months and months.
Months of uncertainty, months of fear
but now the snow had melted
and flowers were poking through green stalks of grass
and I knew everything was behind me, all that pain.
Winter had dried her tears, and so had I.

/ / / / / 

I spent so many months longing for May,
and now it sounds soft and precious leaving my tongue.
So late to come, so soon to leave,
but for now, I'll drink it in
close my eyes against the warmth
let the sun leave a dusting of freckles across my cheeks
tiny, hardly noticeable, but I know they exist.
I'll read books in the hammock under a canopy of leaves
on weekend afternoons slow as molasses.
I'll walk through town with friends in shorts and a T-shirt,
bubble tea cold against my tongue,
and I'll perform in a play, once again
sweating under layers of costumes
regretting wardrobe decisions until I'm onstage, singing my heart out
and everything else fades away.
I know it won't last forever
the warmth and the flowers and the 
soft promise of summer drifting through the breeze
but for now, it's here, and so
I'll lie in bed with the windows open and
write poetry as light as butterfly wings
until the month finally slips from my grasp.