After Sei Shonagon’s Pillow Book
Going to Town
Bradford pears are towers of white blossoms.
Redbuds dot the woodlands.
Redwing blackbirds ride last year’s cattails.
In the Parking Lot
Starlings peck at crumbs from a fast-food bag.
Sunlight plays on yesterday’s puddles, liquid silver.
Red maple buds, their rolling carpet.
A mother packing her baby against her chest,
Her bright red shirt, the baby’s black hair under his camo hat.
At the Vacant Lot
Daffodils framing an invisible house.
Mallards on the overgrown pond, wind lapping up waves.
Roadside, the old post leaning away from no mailbox.
Breathing in spring warmth, eating colors.
Feeling the pain of learning someone has just died suddenly.
Wanting joy and feeling guilty when others lack joy.
Wondering how joy is allocated by the gods.
Drinking in the smiling faces of orchids lined up by a window.
Placing the pot of Snake Plant behind the front seat.
Putting the needle-threader inside my wallet.
Skirting potholes on the bridge while I count tank cars on the train.