tuesday

[cassidysue]

the city is a scale of gray
a sobbing season in a muddy pit
the sober and skinny flowering pears are no exception
they seem to savor the absence of color
they slave away in the wailing wind
to rid themselves of golden finches
and ruby red cardinals
who have been blown into the branches
by a moody mother nature

i am sitting by the window, watching
as the tiny speckles of color bob and weave
throughout the stuttering trees
i am unable to look away from these
small splashes of spring in a flowering pear
staccato songs for a world that is otherwise not ready