ONE SPRING DAY
We rise from the breakfast table,
sated, waffles with Canadian maple syrup.
There is nothing we can do
about the Albanian refugees
in Macedonia, the bombing in Kosovo.
We climb into the warm van and drive
up the canyon to take a walk.
Butterflies are out this morning.
Erynnis skippers newly hatched,
their white borders sharp against
velvet black hind wings;
little blues circling and chasing.
Purple finches are singing
from the tops of oaks;
spotted towhees trilling in toyon;
shy thrashers busting through trees.
Swallows are back again,
sitting on a line over the wash,
preening their fat bodies, turning
their heads, violet and green in the sun,
as if this moment is all they have,
as if this is all they can do.
18 April 1999
Copyright ©
2000 by MARCYN DEL CLEMENTS.
All right reserved.
