Letters to the Editor
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To wake and be happy again
Last fire before spring.
To liberate such energy, the years trapped in circles. If only my cremation smelled so sweet. If I could bring light and heat. The scent that jerks the city out of bed puts the country to sleep. So many differences making so little difference.
My axe now sleeps with winter clothes and I long for summer dresses and detente with the trees. Mostly summer dresses. And shade. And passion. It is going to be a hot summer.
I want to sleep underneath the Weeping Willow as it cries all night quietly.
Its tears all around me.
I'll sleep there so soundly until I'm allowed finally to wake and be happy again.
To wake and be happy again.