Psithurism in Spring
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More stories from Allison Dolzonek
March 31, 2016
February 25, 2016
February 18, 2016
There’s a creeping in the air this time of year.
These days, when words fall like moth balls from my mouth
And you can’t stand to look at me.
Your mother scoops ice cream and I beg you to listen.
These days, when clocks move in reverse
And you can’t find the time.
Your father mows the lawn and I beg you to listen.
I’m scratching at my arms
(my wrists aren’t used to being freed
I’m walking backwards
(my face isn’t used to being stained
by the sun).
I’m checking my pulse
Standing outside in the rain
and breathing into my hands.
“accidental stars with a talent
These days, when I beg you to listen
and, with your eyes to the ground
staring at a clover
you point out
how suddenly the seasons have changed.
From the top of a hill,
Staring down at a weathered, white house.
Wrinkled candy wrappers in my pocket.
I point out
How I’ve seen it coming for months.