by Abigail Gallagher 

 

On spring’s first day, I sit on a bench
overlooking the university’s lawn, 

buildings rising from horizon on four sides
toward watercolor-clouds overhead.  

The trees planted here are still bare, 
brown bark absorbing sunlight  

while half-naked counterparts litter
earth as it strives to revive 

from the straw patches
where winter’s teeth left their mark. 

Earlier, on the other side of campus, 
I witnessed a family of birches  

struggling to ascend 
between cement edifices.  

I imagine them now, huddled in the forest, 
ashen skin quivering,  

and whisper, 
it is safe to spread your limbs.