Reid@YWP

Spring is a blossom crushed 

Unbeknownst to you, in your clammy palm. 

It’s a season made of glass, 

Fragile, disintegrating 

Like the April showers filling 

Cracks in the pavement. 

I dreamed 

I was the sun 

over the shimmering sea 

illuminating everything 

perfectly 

I dreamed

I was a crab

At the beach

Pinching toes

Happily

Two plastic plants, a blue glass vase of dead flowers, and a cactus. In the blue glass vase, there is a collection of white and red roses, all dead, all dried up. Back in the days of majesty, flowers had meaning beyond their beauty.

One of my favorite pastimes is people-watching on the porch.  

I will have my tea or lemonade in hand,  

Book resting on my propped-up knees.  

Julia from down the street will wave and ask how I'm doing. 

i know spring is ending, because the lilacs are wilting – their pale purple has fallen to the ground, leaving behind brittle stalks of brown
nestled in rich green leaves.
as soon as they came, gone