PINK PLASTIC TEA PARTY

I am anticipating an early spring break, the budding crocus, the tender scent of melting earth, the turn in weather to be a dependable truth, but as a little girl has taught me, we can not judge the outside until we understand the inside. Some how we want life to give and yet it is all changing with a swift swing of words or wind or ways. Like a tea party set up on an outside table in the final light of a winter afternoon, we hope things will remain as they are until the morning, they might not be-- The world can change, people can change, we can change. Today, let us be present and know to enjoy the moment. Let us learn before we judge.

Pink Plastic Tea Party

On a Tuesday afternoon in February
when the weather is unpredictable,
when the earth is soggy with melting snow,
when the sun is on her slow faithful turn--
all defrosting her hibernating soul;
a little girl sets a tea party for four.

Moon follows and window
frames begin rattling,
heat pipes start banging;
waning leaves keep blowing,
no one noticing the carefully
placed tea party prepared
that day in the yard.

Each precisely placed plastic plate
swirls through the swollen night;
the dreams of imaginary playmates
tumble across the first scent of spring;
crocus silently pushing begin to emerge.

And on waking,
the groggy face
of a five year old
looks out the kitchen window
and discovers, under the
sepia sky, that life changes
with one swift hand
of the hissing wind.