Faux Thaw

If ever a day so deceitful, so
promising in its delicate sunshine,
you’d stow all the wools and flannels, change out
storms for screens—the mud-framed sidewalks, matted
gardens so bathed in clemency you’d stamp
COMMUTED on the calendar and free
those squirmy inmates from their times-sevens
and prepositions to dance a giddy
getaway into rumpus rooms of blue
and wispy white—today’s that kind of day.

Originally appeared in Silver Stork

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash