More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor鈥檚
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it鈥檚 the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world鈥檚 baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I鈥檒l take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I鈥檒l take it all.


Copyright 漏 2017 by Ada Lim贸n. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 15, 2017, by the Academy of American Poets.