You Could Sell Me Spring

Any good salesman

Could turn quite the profit

If only they sold these days in a bottle.

Even if their only customer was me, I'm sure they’d make enough to suffice.

I feel like I can see

As the frost lifts from the ground and allows the roots to finally stretch

And when the breeze graces my cheeks

I let it thaw the cold of winter that still clings to me.

I trace my finger along the curls of my new dog, so similar to my Snuffy,

Yet not the same at all.

I can feel him on days like this 

In a different way than I did in the brittle cold;

It doesn’t hurt like a shard of ice stabbing my throat 

But brings a peace to my heart, like when the trees bloom he is telling me he is alright, wherever he may be.

I hear the laughing kids down the street through my open window 

And envision my own youthful laughter, the way it glided along the wind, bringing me here now, 

And I smile at the way that no matter how much I change and grow, these days will always come back to me.

This one holds no urgency, 

Though mostly i grasp onto days like a rope slipping from my hands

And even though they’re scraped and burning

I pull and pull like it’ll keep them there.

But I'm tired of holding on so tight, and the sun against my skin makes me wanna let go, so I loosen my grip

And forget about how time never comes back, instead allowing it to slow.

A salesman could probably sell it to me, but even I know deep down that these days are not something that money buys.

The same way the sand and shells I bring home from the beach cannot recreate the crash of the waves or the salt of the sea, the perfect mix of the birds, the trees, the gentle breeze, and the sound of my dog sleeping at my feet cannot be crushed and stuffed into a bottle or sold for a fee, but they compile themselves into these spring days all for me.