Eve of Spring

By Sara Letourneau



Spring begins tomorrow.

You’d think it had already arrived after

a winter of little snow or cold.

I didn’t notice;

this year, winter raged in my soul.


Loss of friends, death of a loved one—

they brought winds that cut through my bones

and summoned tears. I stayed indoors,

having no desire

to reach out to others

yet yearning to be reached.


What a waste of time and life.

Self-pity, I’ve learned, only means more suffering

the longer you let it snow on you. 


So I will end this season now. When I wake

in the morning, even if the hurt

lingers, I will run out the door

with every inch of me open

to greet the sun. I will stop to lean down

and comb the earth with my fingers

and smell its dampness. I will find

the nearest gazebo and then visit it again

during a rainstorm, so I can watch

nature’s madness at work.


And, I will smile

at more strangers and bid them “hello.”

Everyone longs

to be acknowledged like the first flower of March—

as if they’re coming home,

as if their presence matters to at least

one living person.


So do I—and that will happen

once the season changes outside and within.



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