Sled Ride

Spring is coming.
I can feel it in this aching body,
curled and concave these many months,
now beginning to unfurl with a joyful breath to stretch me out,
reach my fingertips to the sky,
me a loose and clacking skeleton dancing on damp earth,
rattling out the dust and cold.

Spring is coming.
I can smell it on the air, hiding there
beneath the last of the chimney smoke.
I can hear the ice cracking with the weight of rebirth
and the whisper of each new bloom yet to be born, saying,
I am here. Make room for me.

I know spring is coming.
With heavy but hopeful hearts, let us sweep from the corners
the dried petals and old bones and wait, facing the heavens,
eyes closed gently against the beauty and warmth.

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