Photo Art by Elisabeth Messina
Don’t be a wallflower,
Spring.
Don’t slip in silently
and stand in the shadows.
Don’t be afraid of Winter,
that bully.
We’ve had enough of his
biting remarks and
cold retorts.
I’ll punch him
in the nose for you
and take the Saturday
just to watch him
sputterandspit.
Just step forward
and dance with me.
I’ll dance with you
as long as you like,
long after that
wildly popular sweaty
Summer shows up.
Photo art by Tom Branch
Letting go is like
Letting go of honey,
or letting go of dirt
under your fingernails after
an afternoon in the garden
Letting go is like
dropping a hot-handled skillet,
the imprint bubbled into your palm.
Or it is like lingering.
It is losing the scent
from a lover’s pillow.
It is the slow melt.
It is marking each labored breath
while feeling the planet’s rotation
under your feet.
Letting go is like blowing
a dandelion
into the wind,
a contrary wind,
that whisks tiny tailed wisps
up your nostrils
under your eyelids
into your ears.
Letting go is artless wretchedness.
There’s no beauty in it:
It is a roll in the mud and
a stumble through the briars.
But when you emerge,
your dented grace
and seedling peace
will be enough.
Chali Davis 