The Truth of Spring

By alisa muñiz all rights reserved 2016

Spring has sprung beneath the scattered white pine needles

Metal scrapes against the earth and misplaced rocks
Arms move back and forth
Up and down, over flip
Repeat
These are my days, as feet step in to spongey soaked earth
Of lighter sweaters and pants but no coat, hat or gloves
Where wind whips and whirls under the entangled spruces
Land mines of post winter dog shit litters the ground
Teasing and taunting strained slumbering back muscles
That even after the bitter cold months spent praying for warmth
Spring might awaken hope for budding regrowth and ice cream trucks
There will still be left over shit to take care of in unexpected places
Before you can walk without fear.

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