Morning After

Chilly,
this Sunday morning
In late April,
with the furnace now switched off,
til' next fall.

Quiet,
thick gray nimbostratus cloud the atmosphere,
Maybe there, to muffle any sound,
as though, on the morning after Earth Day,
there’s a bit of a hangover from the celebration,
all the good times, our hard living.

Still,
yet, within her bounty are the gems of the season,
Crab apple blossoms,
just outside my bedroom window in this rented house,
Long ago planted on the terrace landing,
by someone.
She shows the outward signs of being confined,
and lately, thirsty, chronically,
There is concern about her lean cells, dehydrating,
The dead wood that is pruned, is easily burned,
Fueling fires of warmth for me, and my children,
on chilly evenings and mornings like these.

Beauty,
Despite poor drainage, the concrete walls,
blocking her roots from reaching down and outward to tap water,
on the healthier branches that remain,
are put forth lacy pink blossoms, with edges of white and centers of red.
Natures wonder, in spite of hardship, she endures,
putting a best face forward,
on this morning after.
--mt