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Poems from the Nature of Daylight zine.
Smelling the pine in the cold spring air,
hearing the robbins keep calling to each other,
perched above the petite trillium that refuses to die,
I walk on, knowing I must reach home.
There is a slight worry that I’ve missed spring again,
the nature that unfolds before me
springs up from the impervious pavement and manmade waterways.
No unruly spring to be found but a lateral shift upwards
to an omniscient fluorescent sunshine and febreze-scented air,
soft carpeted ground to guide my feet,
and a computer screen that is always on.
The sounds of the birds are, in fact the sound of my professor droning on,
the lecture on cultural homogenization and gentrification perforates the stale air,
I do not know whether it is noon or night,
but deep within me, I worry that I have missed spring again.