Staggered But Singing Poem by Kevin T McEneaney

Staggered but Singing

March snow, a dirty melt to squelching mud.
The haunting cheep of peepers trilling the night.
Cusp of foolish, fickle April with warm sun.
Cool breeze harping bare, flailing branches.

Nervous energy of restless exultation
spilling like wine over a glass rim—
like toasting a near-lost friend
not seen over the past rueful year.

Memories of slush-filled roads,
ice burdened trees, fallen poles and wires,
candles in the dark, the dead tap,
storm lashed and broken window panes.

Wood stove still glowing red coals,
but a sense of ease beginning to awaken
at sight of a bumblebee attending purple crocus,
snowbells silently waving white in the wind.

To arrive at one more confusing spring
makes the folly of life worth living.
Like a worm blindly squirming to light,
I awake from dreams to sharpen my pencil.