12.28pm 31/03/19
“When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.” – Ernest Hemingway
Do you remember when you were
Lost as the itching and tousling of hair in spring?
The sun tie dyed the landscape, but
your hemming and hawing,
it brings the dry,
cold and damp in.
Do you remember when the light
reached out and kissed you through
the fresh leaves, but it felt more like a sting?
Those bosom friends, wind and chill,
watch the mosquito flitter,
knocking on windowpanes. Held
together by loosened
belts, sugar allergies and bottles
of Festis baked, lingering
through the gaps between her fingers.
The first day of spring —
a wonderful, silvery thing.
excellent