Waiting…

All the young guys at work who had beards have, this week, shaved them off. What is afoot? What is going on? Are they trying to tribally induce spring with the metaphor of getting rid of the old twigs and briers upon the hillsides of their faces?

I asked one of my friends why he did it, was it to encourage spring’s arrival? “Yes.” he said and gazed at me with eyes that seemed way bigger in his clean shaven face. Well, whyever they did what they did, I have to say that I am liking the fresh look of spring and the way I can see the noble majesty of their faces/hills just waiting, waiting for the benediction of spring. — AMS

Something about being sick

with a fever
stirs my soul.
I can feel it fluttering
against my breastbone,
heating up my temples
like idols, furnaces, of gold,
making every part of me
from my hair to my eyes
sensitive
as though stirred up beyond
endurance.
My soul swoons when my body has fever
I can feel its wings tickling me as it
simultaneously
prepares for flight
and collapses
in a burdened heap.
— Annette Marie Smith