Oklahoma Spring

Beautiful allergens thrust spring upon us;

hormones surge, breaking their hibernation

to excite the senses and cloud the judgment.

Myriad small joys sprout among

the stones of our psychic fortresses,

like grass blades and wildflowers

in the cracks of a sidewalk, and

April showers linger toward June.

 

But spring is not a gentle season

on the southern Plains, where

Mother Nature is a bitch in heat,

voracious in her appetites, vengeful

ex in her relationship with us;

we fear her with just cause.

No bookkeeper can account

for the payments that she demands,

no attorney convince her to settle.

 

Her funneled forces of destruction

have come as long as

humans have lived and died here,

but this century’s continual electronic replays

bombard our eyes and ears

until we either sink into depression

or drift off into numbness.

 

Our minds process the enormity of destruction,

but we cannot, eyes glued to screens,

imagine what to feel until

we see the elderly woman

reunited with her dog, and then

our hearts connect with her particular emotion,

beyond words, but in communion

with the collective human soul.

 

Universal in that particularity:

In a landscape of despair,

the wagging tail of hope.

 

Copyright  2013

T. Allen Culpepper

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