Spring

Early April, and warm enough

to keep the windows open overnight

and so we wake to birdsong,

which is more of a repeated chirrup

than a song.

It reminds me of a dripping faucet

if the droplets sounded sharp.

Still, the air feels mild

and smells of rain.

This is spring – gentle, yet sharp.

Snack

Yesterday I saw
that the deer
who comes through the yard
stopped and snacked on
my hosta

leaving nothing but the
central vein of
each leaf, which,
I have learned
is called the rachis

just these
rachises sticking up
where each delicious
blue-green leaf had been

Now the “blue angel”
is nothing
but a cluster of spikes,
unappetizing bits
to a deer

That’s the price
I suppose
for building my home
so close to hers

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Photo by Mary Bach