The thirsty bulbs in jars on the windowsill greedily stretch for water;
The little avocado tree, from last season that I potted, droops next to them.

Like me it too is tired of the cold.  I have an aching in my bones.
For spring?  For change?  For what?

The small sounds of the house, the rock of a cradle of trees nearby
Blend with the cold patter of raindrops which, on the roof evaporate

Into steamy dreams and into the night.

I want to roll down that grassy hill,
Again in Mississippi bare-footed
In my ‘petticoated’, polka-dotted flouncy dress,
Sashes hanging untied down the back.

And walk through the fragrant gardens
Of brogan wearing old-maid great aunts;
Hiding half-way behind her dress,
Clinging to the wrinkly flesh of my Granny’s arm.

We loved your ample bosoms,
Dear Grandmothers,
So soft and pillow-like;
The perfect place to lay sleepy heads.

We loved your voluminous laps,
Dear Grannies,
Wrapped in yards of cotton;
The perfect place to rest teary faces.

We loved your full long dresses,
Dear mothers of our parents,
In lengths well past your knees;
The perfect place to hide a shy child.

You cannot straighten out a warped past
You can only choose the straight paths,
Which are now ahead of you.

Analytical-
Here is my blessing and my curse

At the edge of faltering light I meet the eyes that see
      me as only Beauty.

The lonely pines and the sandy soil are warmed by
      the heat of a day now gone.  

Come in now, Honey, sit with me.  
      We are the Youth of dreams.

Star lit sky,

out where the blue begins,
I'm feeling strong in the wings, again;

  And,
     I
       want
                to
                    fly.