Open wide the windows, and tear the dirty screens down
That wild wicked wind is blowing away the last of winter
the last of the cigarette butts from the melting filthy snow.
The clouds are zipping by
daring you to keep up.
I brave the winds and rip off my scarf
as my hair gets yanked from its roots.
My lungs are filled and I scream into the air
it’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming!
I let the tornado sneak in and whip my papers about my desk
casting a clean white across my floor.
A new beginning
can you smell it?
The smells of fresh soil, of new grass, of onions budding in the gardens.
I lay down pressing my face to the dirt
and just breathe.