The Inspection

On a Saturday morning

in April, after a night rain

budding trees sparkle in a gentle chill;

some surfaces are too bright to look at.

I sit in line for inspection:

they'll make sure the car is working.

I do the same for myself,

with coffee & depression.

The earth proclaims joy, celebration

of life returning!, Returning!, after the cold

but even hearing it, I do not hear it.

...

I see it, though. I scribble notes about it

calmly storing it away for a time

when I will join the celebration.

...

Like coffee, like cars, like inspections,

even like Spring herself, I know

this little shadow, too, must pass.

I will wait here patiently for it; mean time

the trees are pretty along the road.

I write with an empty hand.










April 2022