Spring's Menagerie in '25 
I. The Burial of the Dead 
April is the cruellest month, 
breeding 
Lilacs out of the dead land, 
mixing 
Memory and desire, stirring 
Dull roots with spring rain  
—— The Wasteland by T.S Eliot 
 
I woke up one morning and found 
I had arrived in spring. It was a quiet 
fanfare. I opened my windows to listen  
to the lark of morning 
birdsong leaking elastic notes from trees 
 
I had left 
 
My body on the equator             split 
between two seasons:                  the drought and flood 
When it finally                                  came, it  
found a patch of lawn-                       cut green 
and laid there                                        waiting to hear 
the birds                                                  come home 
                                  to the triangle  
 
of survivors 
 
The leaf cutter stalks Tuesdays 
so spring flowers are untrue 
Our only hope ——a pond 
resists our conspiracy 
to trespass. The highway 
Is the only way out