By Annette Marie Hyder
The rivers have shed their skins of ice
and undulate along
tree lined banks whose trees have yet
to let their green pennants fly
upon the breeze
but stand in drab uniforms
a somber March and April army
soldiering into May.
is a brick thick eggshell
keeping the proverbial yellow chick of spring
from breaking free.
You can feel the whole state’s populace —
we’re grinding our teeth in impatience and
bringing forth a collective egg-tooth
(so to speak)
of our own.
If spring doesn’t hurry
we’ll break that shell ourselves,
shake all the scales from the sky
and from our eyes
pluck (like feathers)
what we can from the season
to stuff the pillows of summer
on which to lie upon.