May 13, 2025

spring sonnet

The hardware store’s got sales on soil
and the motel down the highway
has the marquee full again—a royal
flush of welcome. Orange tulips sway

roadside. The windows at the co-op
get an earnest wash. I eat my lunch
in short sleeves, take a lollipop
from a basket at the bank, crunch

down into an ersatz cherry,
make a solemn vow to quit
biting my thumbnails, eat less dairy,
drink more water—that whole bit.

But now the light’s too bright for lists.
I turn my face. The air insists.