Spring is near ( hopefully) and though it brings rebirth, it can also bring rain and with it pain. Nothing is black and white here at the Lyrical, or– for that matter– life. Poet Keith Tornheim brings us this mixed bag with his poem Clouds in Springtime.

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Clouds in Springtime

He died the end of August,

so winter was a time for mourning,

what with the darkness,

the sleet and snow,

the cold without for the cold within.

And now in early springtime,

the trees again grow green,

some pink with blossoms.

As sap flows anew,

so should happier thoughts.

The bears emerge from winter caves,

in search of blueberry delights,

and I, too, climb out.

But even in the warm sunlight,

at times a shadow passes over.

Announcements on the trolley

call out Brookline Hills

or Brookline Village,

where I’m reminded that I used to stop

to see him at assisted living

and then the nursing home.

His body shrank, his mind retreated,

yet his smile remained,

until the mouth relaxed open

in the unending sleep,

silent, unmoving on the hospital bed.

– Keith Tornheim

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