Flower by Flower

Written by Lindsay Mensch


The phrase,

“Spring has sprung”

feels like a lie to me.

I haven’t seen flowers bound from the dirt

and felt warmth fill the air

with the snap of a finger.


Spring doesn’t gather its energy over three seasons

to release it in a spontaneous, combustible burst;

it burns slowly,

deliberately –

it takes its time coming about.


Spring creeps in the corners of winter,

in its warm bunker until the sun returns.

It peeks its head out,

emerging slowly,

on its own terms.


Spring grows like a contagion on the

low spirits of all; their sadness melts away

with the snow.


Spring doesn’t spring;

it blooms like the tulips

that are characteristic of the time.

It must fight the frost

to emerge from the earth.


When people say,

“Spring has sprung,”

they mustn’t be personifying the season.

They must be leaping themselves,

into the joy and life

of the planet’s rebirth.



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