Equinox <br />I’m perusing the aisles of a local retailer <br />as if strolling through the blossoming rows of a flower garden: <br /> <br />blouses of petal <br />shawls of leaf <br />daffodil dresses <br />and tulip skirts <br /> <br />so lovely, it hurts <br /> <br />earrings to wed the petal-pink <br />bangles and bracelets to chime <br />necklaces and floral scarves <br />to festoon the feminine form <br />and dangle from my rhyme <br />barrettes to kiss the firmament <br />and shoes to marry the clime <br /> <br />All this, <br />yet I walk away. <br /> <br />It finally strikes <br />like an iron spade in the brown earth: <br /> <br />The Spring I seek is loamy soil <br />clumping beneath my fingernails <br />as snails and worms and potato-bugs <br />wiggle to life the wonders of bloom. <br /> <br />I’m on my knees in my garden, <br />sporting weathered yoga pants and a blank tee. <br />My hair is careless, my skin is free. <br />My feet are utterly bare. <br />I’m in the dirt and of the air. <br />It seems I’m done with the season of merchandise. <br />It’s equally nice simply to be. <br /> <br />(©2014 All rights reserved)<br /><br />Michelle Claus<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-seems-i-m-done-with-the-season-of-merchandise/
