Look Now

April's been flinging about her poetry dress, a flamenco dancer that leaves me awed by cadence and color as she blurs off the stage. For the first time in four years, our irises are having a purple party. No more tall green stalks that taunt but don't deliver. All that storing up for the final last week of April in Southeastern Ohio.

And yes, I'm also reveling in the last few days of this National Poetry Month--especially as I try...and try again... to better envision/embody a National Poetry Life.

This week I signed a publication contract with a journal I've been submitting to for five years. I sensed a real inner shift when I found myself thinking, "That's not that long of a timespan. You've got a lot to learn, girl. You've got this whole life." 

Spring reminds me of the difference between grace and expectation, also, how each year Mother Nature forgives us for our neglect and gluttony. With red bud trees blooming along the highway or fawns on the front lawn, Gaia tells us there's still time.

These irises will fade in a few days, shrivel up to be slippery knots of petals. Now, now. Look now, they urge as I stop to stare at them, only a blip in my day as I cross off my to-do list and try my hardest to keep in touch with the people I love and the life I am daily building. Why must we always feel so behind?  

In a week that's also brought a towed car, harsh words said in haste, angry emails from strangers, little sleep--and, as usual, not enough time to be the partner-writer-teacher-daughter-in-law-sister-friend-child-of-god I want to be--there's been plenty of opportunities for deep exhales, nevertheless, for large portions of self-forgiveness, for small bursts of (purple) celebration.