The calendar proclaims that spring has arrived.
The birds and bees and other creatures agree,
(I've spied them in their mating dance)
still spring eludes me, except in memory.
The crocuses have come out,
but everything else seems to be delayed.
It's April, yet March winds blow fierce,
like a rogue tsunami crashing over the house,
ready to drag me out to sea.
The weatherman predicts rain
tomorrow and the day after,
and I remember my mother's chant:
April showers bring May flowers.
I want the flowers
I want the sunshine.
I want the kaleidoscope of spring.
I need the hope of optimism;
I pray it will have a resurgence soon.
Elise Skidmore ©2019