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Early - A Poem

Slowly I thaw like April in Maine.

Snow still melting,

dark, wet and heavy.

Lichen grows between uncomposted leaves.

A lake, waves of slush.

A pile of forgotten kindling long buried under ice now exposed,

too damp to use.

The earth playing catch up with the spring light.

My bones have been covered for months in sweatpants and hand knit cardigans.

All I need now is a scarf and the weary winter jacket I bought last fall.

Hat and gloves stored away.

Footprints through the mulch leave an impression and boots get dirty enough to scrape at the doorstep.

I have walked this path before.

--Brette Popper

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