This winter did not bring the hazy world
of wet, nor the susurrus of falling
beads of rain, yet the year proceeded.
Green hills faded to brown. The flowering
plum became a harbinger too soon.
Now we have the nameless season elbowing
into spring. Rudely thrusting back the rain
it beckons summer heat before its time,
pulls forth the breath of August
while April dissolves in bright and light,
calls for spark and ember, the errant
cigarette, the bit of broken glass,
tears up the pages of the calendar
to build an illicit and illegal fire
that will last to light our closing.
About the Author: Ruth Bavetta’s poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod, American Poetry Review, Tar River Review, North American Review and many other journals and anthologies. Her books are Fugitive Pigments and Flour, Water, Salt (Futurecycle Press), Embers on the Stairs (Moon Tide Press), and No Longer at This Address (Aldrich Press). She has been a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee.
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Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Utah Cliffs”(2021)