Thursday, April 19, 2012

Huntin' Season


They come when the first dandelions,
tickled awake by sudden shoots of green,
heave their yellow heads
beneath the mighty breeze
that echoes in the pale arc of the sky.

They come Sunday afternoons,
perched on their off-roads,
to paw the ditches like bear just roused from rest.

There is the splintering of brittle stalks;
the maul of the grass;
the snap of thick stems, sheltered cool and close to the earth;
asparagus, pungent in the palms.

Our children peer at them as we pass
on our way to the evening service.
They wave gloved hands and swerve south,
like salmon, sprinting upwind.


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