Spring Poem

In spring, when the first sudden sun pours down 

Honeyed warmth onto the grateful neighborhoods,

Coaxing the hyacinths and crocuses into

The greening light of new-leaving trees,

The men take off their shirts.

Baring pale winter flesh sprouting its dark tendrils,

They stretch and strut and run out onto the paths,

Raise their hairy arms to the skies,

Shed their long pants, their socks, their winter paces.

Throwing open the garage bays, they mow and rake and seed,

Tune up their bikes, their breathing, their brains,

Celebrate the retreat of cold with their whole body-beings,

Without thought of unfitness, or flab, or suppressed instinct.

The women, on the other hand, greet the sun

With a wild pent-up grieving for lost opportunities—

Tightening of muscles, shedding of pounds,

Abnegation of the flesh and its hungers.

After long months of hibernation

In heavy woolens, dark layers,

Vacillations of refusal of the flesh

Beneath, and stoking the envious spark

Within, their spirits are weary

With disappointments.  They drive

Past, watching, filled with desire  

And remember spring.  

Mary for the Poplar Grove Muse