Poem: "Prelude to Spring Fever"

Prelude to Spring Fever

I lay wrong-end-to on my bed,

listening to wind whistle through the screen,

Hearing papers rattle in the next room,

thinking I should get up and rescue them.


Instead I watch clouds pile up outside my window,

trees waving excitedly at them,

like children wanting to be picked up.

Looking out that window

helps me get my head straight.

Up in my third-floor apartment

smell of lilacs floods in from the southeast,

thrilling my nostrils.


Northwest brings the wet, sweet smell

of mock orange blossoms.

Norway pine floats in forcefully

from out of the southwest,

and I turn on the radio to hear if

any tornado warnings are out.

The smell from the north is more gentle.

Lilys of the valley drift in,


only if the mailman happens to come

crushing through them to my door.

Like wistful memories these smells

seem to promise something.

I open my eyes

seeing swelling tree branches

peeking in the window.

They want to be close.


I am swelling, too,

taking in the fresh air,

letting it pass through my body,

ooze out my pores.

I say, "Good morning, Sun!"

Branches nodded their thanks.

Clouds pass by slowly,

like they are at the end


of an all-night march.

Air tender and warm,

I hold it in my nostrils,

inhale it in my skin,

let it fill my body with preciousness.

Let it invade my clothes.

For once I feel complete,

not forever longing.


The air makes no promises.

Merging together,

we share each other.

It is enough for now.

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