When the Forsythia Blooms by Ann E. Wallace

My father once told me the time
to put down grass seed
is when the forsythia blooms.
I noticed those scraggly yellow buds
on the roadside the other day,
the same week that my backyard
cherry tree began sprouting
soft sprays of pink.

And so it is time to tend
to the winter-trodden earth
of my garden, to kneel in
the damp soil to till it by hand,
prune out old growth and stones
that surfaced in cold upheavals,
and smooth the ground
in preparation for spring.

But I am still heaving
rocks myself and carrying
the cold weight of winter
that has held on too tight and
too long, as I gasp for air
and kick toward the surface
where yellow and pink flowers
have begun to blossom.



Ann E. Wallace, a poet and essayist from Jersey City, New Jersey, is author of the poetry collection Counting by Sevens (Main Street Rag). She is online at AnnWallacePhD.com and on Twitter @annwlace409.