This is the season when days 
begin to lengthen, and spring 
bulbs wake from long gestation. 

This is the season for pruning 
trees, folding winter clothes, 
cleaning the clotted dust 

from window frames,
listening for tiny signals
for help.  Glass panes 

shatter from schoolroom doors; 
and watercolored sunflowers dry 
above the heads of children 

cowering under tables. Soon, 
rows of blue-black irises cloaked 
in judges' robes border the yards;

in the papers, news of a Good 
Friday funeral, for a newborn
who lived only four hours.  

3 Replies to “Ecclesiastes”

  1. So lovely. And you have given a name to the dust I noticed yesterday on my window frames. Thank you for making poetry come alive in front of my eyes. I will never forget that now.

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