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Kill what you can't savewhat you can't eat throw outwhat you can't throw out bury What you can't bury give awaywhat you can't give away you must carry with you, it is always heavier than you thought.Margaret Atwood
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SPRING POEMIt is spring, my decision, the earthferments like rising breador refuse, we are burninglast year's weeds, the smokeflares from the road, the clumped stalksglow like sluggish phoenixes / it wasn'tonly my fault / birdsongs burst fromthe feathered pods of their bodies, dandelionswhirl their blades upwards, from beneaththis decaying board a snakesidewinds, chained hidesmelling of reptile sex / the hensroll in the dust, squinting with bliss, frogbodiesbloat like bladders, contract, stringthe pond with living jellyeyes, can I be thisruthless? I plungemy hands and arms into the dirt, swim among stones and cutworms, come up rank as a fox, restless. Nights, while seedlingsdig near my head I dream of reconciliationswith those I have hurtunbearably, we move stilltouching over the greening fields, the futurewounds folded like seedsin our tender fingers, days I go for vicious walks past the charredroadbed over the bashed stubbleadmiring the view, avoidingthose I have not hurtyet, apocalypse coiled in my tongue, it is spring, I am searchingfor the word:finishedfinishedso I can begin overagain, some year I will take this word too far.Margaret Atwood