i observe she is always the first to arrive
in this season of awakenings, this season
of erupting life—edgy, eloquent, forthright—
surrounded by her siblings
she stretches upward aiming for the sun
and i am struck by her couture
by that tiny body flashy with outrageous color
showing off a slim white form from which spring
long green sleeves and a smallish purplish hat
festooned with lavish orange embellishments
that make the statement here i am.
i can tell you the reason for her prompt appearance—
well before the steadfast daffodil
and the exuberant forget-me-not, never mind
the prim lilac—is simply the advantage
of her location—as they say, it's all about
location on a rich hump of sunny dirt. but don't
get worked up—that's not the whole story.
that's not what's making the dirt even better.
can you imagine, better than compost?
rather, it is this: her nether regions are securely
lodged, along with fistfuls of worms,
in the hottest spot in the town—no, that's a lie—
take away town and add yard—
in the soil directly on top
of the simmering sludge
within the slow-cooking
septic tank in the garden.
and if she could express her feelings
i think she would pose a riddle
in such a way that neither dictionaries
nor encyclopedias nor all human knowledge
could help solve it—
leaving the answer in something immediate
in something, i imagine, she, at least,
has intimated all along.