Lying in bed this morning,

ready to begin the day,

listening to wind rock branches,

roar against the screen,

I groaned, rolled over

to hide underneath the pillow.

Then, remembering Mary Oliver’s words

about West Wind tantalizing the roses,

irritation blew away as I imagined

tender roses, wispy winter twigs,

bare lilacs, emerging crocus,

shuddering under the electric caress

of a forceful lover.

Later, walking in my windbreaker,

I swear I heard the naked mulberry tree

cry out in ecstasy

while her grandfather elm blushed

across the street.

Sun flirts with me,

fingers on my shoulder,

hand on the small of my back,

bold kisses on my cheeks.

Then, just as I turn with ready lips,

he ducks behind a curtain of cloud,

leaving me warm with longing.

like spring snow

falling even though it knows

nobody wants it to land

like flowers

compelled to surge through soil

aware that they may still freeze

How dare they expect me to

        show up on time

        remember which office is mine

        answer questions with accuracy

        provide friendly service

        make sound decisions

        file charts alphabetically

        apply therapeutic skills…

when it is hard enough

to remember my own name

after leaving all of it behind

on Friday at 4:00

for sixty-four hours

of nothing but freedom

Underneath slimy decay,

green promise of life.

Hope’s flowers bloom here.