There is that spot on the main road to my house
that changes in spring, changes everything. Just
as winter ends it will call me from my thoughts
at night, bordered like a parade route with azalea
blooms -- just between the Mission style Catholic
church and the senior care center my grandmother
walked home from one night before she died,
waiting for the door to open, just the right moment,
they did not even know she was gone when I took
her back. It was a night like this and I think of her
every time there are the azaleas, her sudden
strong grip on me when I left her. On these nights,
the principled resistance to joy, all the world’s
deep unfortunate things, lessen, are instantly
vestigial, the world forever, tonight, an easy breath,
a blessing.
Steven Croft lives on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia. He has recent poems in Sky Island Journal, As It Ought to Be Magazine, Poets Reading the News, So it Goes: The Literary Journal of the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library, Third Wednesday, and San Pedro River Review.
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