May 6, 2009 0
Spring Equinox
by Jane Blue first published in Poetry Now
I feel peeled, coffin-ripped.
The worms of night sated now.
My spectacled eyes
tender as incubated babes.
Elms hang infant leaves
like minuscule laundry.
At a bus stop, a bird walks
high in a tree's new fringe,
pecking, sashaying
up the limb skyward.
It pauses to call "chip-chip"
into the Morse-code morning.
Soon, someone replies,
"chip-chip." The bird saunters
out on the attenuating branch,
then steps into air.
What soldier, what saint
will I be in this new life?