Three Sisters Or Come The Revolution Poem by Don Tiedemann

I.


In the harbor the white boats bob,
the whitecaps flash. On the shore
the blank trees rock heel toe, heel toe.
Now is the negligence of careless April;
the sloven stir of wind and wet
and hope and green and indifference.
Breathe in, breathe out. Shuffle the deck.
Drum your fingers. Hum Vivaldi

In the streets the long-haired girls
are weathervanes. The Winter that
led you here is as gone as the wake
behind the fishing boat.


II.

The flowers are all shameless
histrionics. Dogwoods
gesticulate. Day lilies bow.
Azaleas are blazing footlights
for posturing hardwoods.

You like the conviction in May;
the resolution in shrinking puddles,
clarity in mown fields. Summer
issues a call for rebellion.
White-tailed deer drum the paths.


III.

Green are the fields and green
the trees that shape them.
Coneflowers and daisies
Sit in their Sunday hats.

The rabble organizes in June.
Summer's manifesto is posted.
The birds make treetop speeches
demanding sunlight, long languid days
and clouds in silent procession
over cornfields.