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A Rare Poem

The Neighborhood is Out

March 4, Dalton





The windows open, the fans circling above

To push out must and dust and closeness

I snap the leash and let the lab escort me through the streets

He smells; I, a virus victim, see without smell.

 

The feral children, out of their houses, out of their shoes

The walkers and their dogs

The dogs without walkers

The kid who got the motorbike for Christmas

The little waves, the long conversations.


The daffodils with sunny crowns

The redbuds on the limb

Crocus and hyacinth peeking through grass that remind us of summer labor

Dandelions and onion distract us from the pansies and violets

The forsythia and hellebores

Camelias and of course dogwood,

Lots and lots of dogwood



We will have a freeze next week; it’s March. No matter.

Today we open our windows and hearts and breathe.

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