Plant Seeds Now/This Will Be A Lean Winter
Early November and
Thick-furred, fat, gray squirrels
Scamper collecting fallen berries
And seeds and detritus of donuts and doritos.
This will be a lean winter.
The burly, balding, square-jawed janitor
Stops me, his steel-gray eyes soften
As the afternoon light fades.
He cradles in his callused palm
A shivering warbler, orange breast heaving,
He’d found it lying on the cold cement walk,
Picked it up, warmed it back to life,
Now opens his fingers,
Sets it free to fly South.
It will be a cold, lean winter.
In Berrien County, Michigan,
The court found Reverend Edward Pinkney
Guilty of five vote-fraud felonies
For exercising his democratic rights.
He may get life,
Though there is no evidence
He forged anything.
It will be a lean, cruel winter.
Diana points to the marigolds,
Lemon, ochre, deep orange, bountiful
As they catch the dusting of snow flurries,
Hastily going to seed
Before winter’s onslaught.
She reminds me that
Seeds settling in fertile soil in dark times
After the lean, lethal winter,
In the revolution of the Spring.