Early Spring in Seattle

This Spring is out to get me
to wrap me up
to trap me
with dangerously tender limbs around my neck
to crash me
to mute, to tame, to smash me.

The treachery of fragrant breeze
the breath of shameless blooming trees
and mossy trunks of verdant green
the flash of wing and happy din
the buzz, the whisper in those budding branches
the crawling velvet of new grassy patches
delirious daffodils, primroses, hyacinths
break through the rotting skin
of autumn's leaves
abandoned children drying, dying
Disturbing sweetness lingering above
the city stench of gasoline
wet paint, urine and tattered blankets
(the nameless owner is gone)
is entering my blood like slow poison
poised for a kill
reluctant to begin

Familiar colors, sounds, smells,
the springy blades of grass,
the heavy blossoms
are out to lull me in convenient dream
to numb the pain
to mar the hints
of previous Covenants
of life forgotten,
grounds
lost.

On theater and sickness

25, 26 and 27 of January were days of exhilaration and stress: my students performed The Taming of the Shrew 4 times...And I lived to tell the tale! Not quite, though - the next day I was down with pneumonia - and I am still recovering. Well, Molier and a few other favorite thespians died on stage, so it is not really anything unusual!