Blackberry Winter

Looking out the window
the trees make the office
seem so less disturbing.
Not the expected view
from a Doctor’s office.

Sitting alone on the
examination table, waiting,
looking at the burst of color
announcing spring,
calms me.

As I let myself float along
on the reflected sunlight.
I forget where I am as
I’m lulled into the
promise of resurrection

I love this time of year.

The sound of the cart
coming down the hall
snaps me back
into the exam room.
There I am joined by
today’s nurse, who seems
harried and preoccupied.
She doesn’t smile
when she attaches the
pads to my chest.

Finished and without
looking at me,
she rolls the cart
back into the hall.
She takes the clam with her.

Alone again in the room
I drift back into the green.
This time I wrap it around me,
as a protective shield.
The energy of the season
surges though yesterday’s veins,
a transient squatting in old pains.
Not healing, only disguising.

Maia offers me the
possibility of atonement,
as she does each year.
I gasp at it with both hands
promising her,
as I do each year,
that one more season
will do for me.

I love this time of year.
There is no age
only youth.
Why then do I cry?