Susan Scheid

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Washington Springs into April

The starlings pick through the sticks in my yard
as if it were a bargain table at Macy’s.

My car is covered with so much yellow and green pollen
it looks like an over-sized bumble bee.

Pink and white petals fall like snow, collect in crevices,
swirl in eddies from the wind of passers-by.

Everywhere the landscape is dotted with color,
as if the clouds saturated with paint
had leaked across the grass and trees.

The blue jays settled for a short time in the spirea bush
until they felt the interested eyes of the cat
bearing down upon them from the dining room window.

At rush hour I have to walk around
an amoeba of tourists spreading and dividing
on the platform, just to get to my train.

Everything feels close and crowded as if somebody
kicked the anthill of winter and we’ve all rushed
out of our hiding places in order to spread ourselves
in the sun and the warm air.

Overnight the world has erupted. Life is everywhere
and I have decided that it’s happy.

The carpenter bee that hovers near my chair turns
and stares decidedly at me with his round shiny eyes.
He even looks like he is smiling.

The butterfly dances from dandelion to forsythia
and I decide that it’s a happy dance.

Even the sky feels like it is smiling today,
so I smile back and soak up this moment.

©Susan Scheid 2015

Susan Scheid is a part of the vibrant poet community in Washington, DC.  She is on the board of directors for Split This Rock, a non-profit poetry and social justice organization.  She also co-curates the Brookland Arts/BAWA* monthly poetry series in her home neighborhood in Northeast DC.

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One Response to Susan Scheid

  1. Reem says:

    Loved the poem Mike!

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