I’m ready for spring cleaning, trees.
Bristling and eager
To sweep away dust bunny clouds
And marvel at the powder-blue linoleum of the sky.
And I want to take and shake you
To speed up the process
Because there’s this one spot in the western corner
That could use extra cleaning.
When you scrub it just right it’s all
Shattered crystal and golden tapestry
And it positively shines of an evening.
I’m ready for spring cleaning, rain.
I know you’re capsuled
In jars somewhere
Waiting to be spritzed over old brown fields.
When you shower us just right
It washes off the mud of the year from the heirloom earth
And turns it green around the edges.
The earth is younger than winter let’s you believe.
All it needs is a warm bath,
And it will come out pink and wrinkly,
Giggle-wriggling in the joy of nakedness.
I’m ready for spring cleaning, wind.
Your warmer self is blowing open windows
And sucking up fragmented leaves and fallen fuzzies.
You shake them loose and deposit them somewhere else, like our old vacuum.
It’s all just redistribution anyway…
But you liven up this worn and shaggy rug with noise and frantic glow
And satisfy us by zigzag patterns ‘cross the carpet.
On some spring evening, whisper from behind shuttered doors
And comfort me.
Tell me that Someone is awake and cleaning while I’m tucked away,
And when I wake the world will have woken too.