Mid - Terms
    Jane Schuster
When the snow begins to melt,
pushing darkness into day's later corners,
I feel I have passed some test,
become worthy of hyacinth, grass
and the green glow of birdsong.

Then I hear the longest day
of the year has come,
and now begins the downward
slide past the sodden heat of August
and October's crisp MacIntosh days
to winter,

and here I am again,
gathering enough demerit
to merit winter's grimace,
grim punishment for thinking
anything was forever,
that happiness like sadness
could last,

that just because I can't feel it
the earth isn't turning
everything into itself,
now light, now dark,
now bang, now silence.


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