Spring Clean

Olivia Macdonald

Outside, our filth is unearthed

as winter recedes

and everything is a tired shade of brown.

This is the midway

when the pendulum swings

between the purity of dead white winter

and the lusciousness of August. 

The air is not quite fresh

as April's fungi and mold

heave and ho tiny lungfuls of decay.

The sky, soon cornflower blue,

is just recovering from a long bout 

of iron cloud days 

and May's roadsides are lined with our carelessness,

even as eager green sprouts 

push their way through the spiritless fallow 

that covers the garden like brown paper packages 

I Will Disappear

I will disappear, slowly
like a dirt path beneath the falling snow; 
like a small bird in a large sky,
my bird eyes looking straight ahead and never back
until I  am in some other sky far from where I started.

I will disappear 
like the long crest of storm waves rushing 
to the curve of a sandy shore;

like white smoke from a small fire
rising upward into a cloudy day;

I will disappear like the echo of a Sunday bell
that stopped ringing just moments past 
.

not like one drowning
not like one fighting 
not like one falling
for these have no grace

not as a room when a door slams shut
or a voice when the phone is disconnected
for these are too sudden

I will disappear like last week's bruise
the blue beneath my skin, fading. 

The Darkness in Me

The darkness in me was once a daybreak

that forgot to belong
the birth of a star
and the loss of a star

and the loss of a star

which all feel the same

The darkness in me
The darkness in me is the life that we live

and the love that gives life

and goes out in a beat
and the beat that’s in me

is the god and the end

and the no and the full 
The darkness in me is a seed

and a child 

as heat in a drought

the wind in the blue
The darkness in me is a love that is lost

and a day at the park

and a day in the rain

and a day in my bed

and a day walking sideways

and a day in a tub with a stranger

that's you

when there’s a message

when none has been sent

the chase through the snow

the reach for the phone

the close of a book

The darkness in me

is a leaf crushed and blown

fallen and withered

all that I've known

once a sunrise

the unknown life

is a word and a rhyme

and a keeping of time

that falls out of step

The darkness in me

the never and true

given away

wrapped and presented

The darkness in me is the static I hear

the sleep on the floor

not started, not done

returned to the sky

The darkness in me

is all that I've known

and all that I am

the moon and the sun

Knitting Time

The Space Between

This can not be taught
and this can not be known;
the deep stillness of our being
the glass before it's blown

the spokes within the wheel
the empty pot, the seed unsewn
the block of wood 
~ that's not been carved
the jewelled, but empty, throne.

The pinpoint of existence
before the fire was spread
in ashes of our longing
~ the word, before it's said

the continent that is our heart
before the ocean grew
and moved us close together
in the space between the two.