Tara K. Shepersky
It's the only time of year I've walked here
when the ground looks like somewhere I'd truly want to rest.
I can see the hollow where some small creature did:
all-heal and bedstraw, pressed and folded.
Like every year, the roses are trying
to roof the muddy trail with a bendy arch,
which they promise to decorate. I left two weeks ago,
and they weren't here. But they must have been, planning.
Cherries lift their fistfuls of defiance to the wind.
They will be fruit! In the meantime, a glorious mess.
Their buds when I left were so contained. I glanced away,
they slipped their short and furious fluorescence.
Was I thinking just now that spring is soft with welcome?
It hails like I'm a taxi: come! I'm going!
Tara K. Shepersky is a taxonomist, poet, essayist, and photographer. She makes her present home in Oregon's Willamette Valley, with roots joyfully tangled up in half a dozen soils of America's West. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Shark Reef, High Desert Journal, and the Clackamas Literary Review, among others.