Seasonal

This April day foreshadows summer.
Our winter skins taste sun and dust
and a hint of sweat. The neighbors' lawns
smell faintly of first mowings. Tree lines
soften with tiny leaves.

Yesterday, cleaning my classroom,
I found notes secreted away by students--
some words kind, some not. I've worked here
longer than anywhere else, long enough to see,
several times, that what I thought the end
was only the middle.

Walking home from work, I pass
Mrs. D's old house, where I spent
a week and some spare evenings
when her daughter visited Egypt
or family in another state. Mrs. D
said little, but did everything with humor
and kindness--grace toward the stranger
muddling through her routine.
She's been gone a few years, but still
I glance through the big window,
missing her quiet presence. A large screen
 flickers in place of her pink chair.

A sports car vibrates in the driveway.
A small boy bounces to the beat,
buffing the car's sleek black sides.
His answering smile, as I pass,
dances in this almost summer sun.