By Roy Doughty
Written: 3/20/07

As soon as we stepped outside this morning,
We knew that the blue of the sky had deepened,
And that the tropical aplomb, that languid,
Bare-leggéd women with the easy smile
And sleepy manner, had given way to a
Certain huffiness, something a little
Perturbed by the drift of our languor,
And ready, at last, to move. The horses in the blood
Break down the fences, and the garden, weedy,
In any case from gross neglect, is trampled,
Roses breaking through, fully bloomed, from the brown
Jumble that has been, so that by early
Afternoon, we are knee deep in petals —
Red and white and yellow and pink and black —
And the blue of the sky has been mobbed
By clods of lavender-grey the color
Of mobbed dove-bellies flying in close formation.
Now our perturbation has given way
To activity, and we find ourselves
Doing, almost furiously, what we
Had been avoiding, preparing to
Take on tomorrow’s promised rain, as if
It were a shower of baptismal wealth,
As if, in fact, the change, though it comes with
The deepest draught of clouds and cold,
Has finally birthed in us a tropical ease.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.