JANET I. BUCK
Stepping Out of Covered Days

Long title for slow time.
Stepping out of covered days
that hang like migraines in my head.
Spring is the color of borrowed bliss--
kids wear Kool-Aid on their teeth.
Cornbread yellow pierces clouds
lifting lids on writers' graves.
Skateboards fly like string-less kites;
basketballs invent my knees
.
Loops still laced with cloying frost
become loose stitches over dawn.
All my chores--sweeping sidewalks
dipped in chocolate somehow now.
Puddles made of warm sorbet
become a rainbow with their streaks.

Reminders of the rain exist--
thin chemise of mucus green
on leaves that curl--
Band-Aids falling off healed wounds.
Sunlight's simple presence now--
a breakfast tray on
Winter's pining lumpy couch.