98poems/chinaberry

Blue jay in the chinaberry tree,
unaware of the cat fights
that have marked the day.
Some fuzzy, mottled intruder,
our cat holding his own
as he has had to,
since we moved in.
The chinaberry tree is
about to break into its
momentary bloom,
just as it did
the spring we came.
A happy surprise
when I drove into town
that misty May day,
a bloom I had never
seen before,
my favorite pleasure.

Yellow flowers have
given way to purple,
and our pink wedding rose,
a cheery shade like
the ’50s lawn chairs
I acquired from
the neighbor,
Barbie’s favorite color
that seems to require
plastic flamingos along
the fence.
Spring has been slow
in coming,
as most things
in my life have.

4/22/98