Spring comes block by block—five blocks down, cherry tees bloom pink while up here a few daffodils, the trees still hesitant—not quite believing the dour chill is done, and I wait for their belief to bloom above me, hundreds of small gods returning into my gladness that they have come, poems in blossom hands bloom crazy. with the crazy bloom of chocolate in the mouth of anyone wise enough to bite into glorious melt over crazy tongue—surely it is the season, the air tender to the touch, not yet burnt, but scented with spring’s pink salt.

The moon says it will snow, late in the season, not enough flurries to drive me mad, as I walk down empty hallways and watch frost cover windows until I look at my silent mother, private past private, the shades drawn, the curtains drawn closed, never a welcome: tonight I welcome myself home: outside seven daffodils bloom, the rest of it shut like a door during the cold season, keeps the cold out. I sit inside with a cup of hot coffee, depressed like spring gone wrong in all the ways it does, lack of bloom’s voice saying rise.


Carol Ellis is a two time nominee of the Pushcart Prize. Her books include the full length Lost and Local (Pacific Coast Poetry Series, 2019), HELLO (Two Plum Press, 2018), and I Want A Job (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Her publications include JAMA, Comstock Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Trampoline, and ZYZZYVA.