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Spring

May 23, 2011

Mr. B and I spent the weekend out at the property getting a shed set up. This was an emotional weekend for both of us – excitement, sadness, exhaustion. I can’t shake the feeling that things are moving very quickly and I have to hold on and run fast. This week the backbones of the property will go in: septic starting today, well on Tuesday, and electrical on Thursday. I’m also hoping to get a chance to go out and put in a garden tonight, which is (to me) the most important backbone of the homestead.

It was a beautiful weekend – sunny, warm, breezy but not windy. Right now all you can hear on the property is running water and birds. There was a skunk lurking somewhere in the bushes. In Montana spring feels like it takes forever to show up and then it is summer, but we are still in spring right now. The historic last frost was this weekend, and all the trees are electric green or red.

Here is a spring poem:

Spring Lemonade

Tony Hoagland

What Narcissism Means to Me

In late April they spread manure on the fields
the same week the lilac hedges bloom,
so the nose gets one of those symphonic challenges
that require you to stand out on the porch and breathe.

The earth goes around a corner, the dresser drawers slide out
and naturally, we change our clothes,
putting the long underwear away,
taking out the short-sleeve shirts,

trying to make the transition
from psychological Moscow
to psychological Hawaii.
When Mary left her husband in December,
she made herself despise him
as a way of pushing off,
like you would push off from the wall of a swimming pool,

but then she gradually believed her own story
of how horrible he was,

and when I talked to her in March,
she was still spitting on his memory:
you would have thought she never had a heart.

There’s a wheel turning in the center of the earth
and over it, our feet are always running, running,
trying to keep pace.
Then there’s a period of quietude and rue,
when you want to crawl inside yourself,
when you prefer ugliness to hope.

Last night the sunset was so pink and swollen
the sky looked like it had gotten an infection.

We were sitting on the lawn and sipping lemonade.
Inflamed clouds were throbbing in the fevered light.
Shannon murmured, Somebody better call a doctor.
Kath said, Somebody get some aspirin.
But nobody moved.

And the smell of lilacs and manure blew out of the fields
with such complexity and sweetness, we closed our eyes.
It had nothing to do with being good, or smart, or choosing right.
It had to do with being lucky–
something none of us had ever imagined.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Germaine permalink
    May 25, 2011 11:08 am

    Thank you for sharing that beautiful poem…i want to read more of his work.

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