Fool's Spring

a poem

Fool’s Spring

I have longed to teach poetry
at a university, to wake sleepy
young adults up to what is inside
them and outside them, and to
change lives that way, O Captain,
my Captain. But, we always think
the thing we’re doing right now
isn’t the thing that matters most,

and what if it is?

The neighbor’s cat zig-zags through
the remains of last year’s garden as
my toddler pinches old tomatoes
between her fingers, pronouncing
them “ick.” We are experiencing a
fool’s spring, a one-week break from
the frigid cold, where we can go outside
in our coats to see what the backyard
has been up to all winter.

Rotting, apparently.

But also, saving up wonderful dirt
for my three-year-old to dump into
her toy excavator. Until she stops, suddenly,
to announce that she must be pushed
on the swing, because she is a helicopter.

Yesterday she was a volcano.

Today I am a mom, tomorrow a book
editor and the next day, a pastor’s wife,
and year’s back I was a high school teacher,
and before that, a student, and before that,
a pastor’s kid and before that, a child, and
when you are a child, you can say,

“I am a volcano,”

and everyone agrees. But at this point
in adulthood, I would have to explain
myself a bit more. Maybe use words like
I identify as or explain:

“I am a poet.”

I abandon a book of poems on a cold
metal chair to help my helicopter fly.
Ted Hughes will have to wait. Maybe
for years. I keep thinking this town needs
me to do free lectures or writing workshops
but maybe it needs me to to push my
helicopter and teach her how to be
a good friend. We sing together about
touching clouds. Is this not poetry?
Is this not worth something,

perhaps, everything?