Spring Peas Come to the Stores
by Hannah Fischer
The men carrying grocery bags
are like cherry trees,
every fist a handful of buds,
every bag a burst of promise.
They’ve stored energy this winter and now
can waste a little in a swagger uphill,
a hop onto a curb.
They’ve brought home artichokes, asparagus,
things their wives will delight in, will put in the fruit bowl,
to admire like flowers.
It’s spring again, and the babies’ fists
of tree branches are about to release
their buds, turning the world a reckless pink,
the petals snowballing around the sidewalks
like a bag of peas, ripped and releasing
its rollicking bounty back down the hill, back over the curb,
staining spring’s soft carpet green.
|Hannah Fischer is a researcher at the Congressional Research Service in Washington, DC. She has had her work published by The Tulane Review and Bitter Oleander.|