POEM: Spring Flight

On the shores of May,
Forsythia arches apostrophes of yellow upward,
While Dogwood stands expectant like a first holy communicant.

Strawberries wend tendrils unseen
Through spongy loam, that aches for June.

Soon, you will leave to occupy a foreign land.
Your heart will occupy a country that does not wish to be free.
You will become squatters to a homeland that you never sought
In the first place.

As for me - I shall be here
To remind you of all the kindness you have
Pulled out of me, nearly against my will.

The words “NOTHING IS PERMANENT” are tattooed
Into the deepest flesh of me.
Still, May is nothing if not a promise.

It is a prayer of safe journey,
Of return flights with no delays,
Of health and maybe just a little sleep,
Of sharing food, and exploring friendship
And the immortal memory of these things
Which become the raw material of our souls.