Maundy Thursday

 

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I want to tell you about the swans:
how they come all at once,
white arrows honking
against steely gray December skies.

Landing as a white mass
in the canes of muddy corn fields.
Always by the road side
they are there.

I want you to know how I see them,
day after day,
even as the snowline rises
back up the hillside,
and rain falls and floods the ditches
and the windswept land.

I want you to know how the swans come
and stay.

But I also want you to know
how they leave.
Not as a mass,
rising and flying in familiar formation
against the sky.
No, they just go.

In the cusp of a new season
they are no longer there
on my drive to work each day.

I realize their absence
and I see:
the yellow of daffodils and forsythia,
the rose of cherry blossoms and magnolia.

What birds have come in their place
I do not know.
I only know the swans are gone
and spring is come. image

About Ameliasb

daughter, sister, wife, mom, early childhood specialist, creator of poems, photos and sweaters View all posts by Ameliasb

5 responses to “Maundy Thursday

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