Calender Parade
Winter saw gray wool clouds
Gartered unsparingly in all directions
freezing the streets
and scaring every spineless, thin-skinned summer zealot
inside at 6:30,
so the world was wide and empty
clean enough to fall down in
without inhibition, without the news following in tow
without Santa guilt-tripping one into submission
where teeth spent evenings in glasses of water
content with silence.
Poppies were in pre-production by Valentine's Day
Falling with embroidery thread to the dank soil
Crocheted into stems and petals, in a midst of re-surging sod
and new dandelions
who were only there for the food.
Colorless thread leaped from March's orbit
into April's grasp
Dolphin stitching through the air
drawn by invisible needles,
springing, hopeful, and inevitably drifting
back to the sea.
Sulfur contaminated Independence Day by noon
Before the pool was screeching with youth and clothed, floating blubber
Tired of the tide-less body, sitting on the shallow side
The cement below was bound to crack
and allow all sorts of prehistoric terror
the opportunity to trudge back
to reclaim, and to wander
painting obscene phrases onto unsuspecting dumpsters.
It was with this fabric
That we wove autumn, when we plugged
In our blankets
And we polished
Our radiators, planning all the while
what I would be that year,
and never concluding
Or ringing any bells.
White owls with buttons for eyes
Lined my heaving chest, modeling the hard work
My grandmother had put into the weather.
As a girl, it became clear
It was she who knit the seasons
And my grandfather
Who nailed them to the wall
During commercials.
