Tiny Winged Chaos of Almost Spring
Today I’m craving the umbra of umbelliferae,
the tiny winged chaos of almost spring. My nose
is hungry for the crumbled itch of pollen.
To be turned on again after all those months
of hibernation. To experience again what chartreuse
tastes like, lighting up my nerve endings like a
photosynthetic electric socket.
I want the sunlight to enter me and shine
through my flesh finding the pale bones,
to pull winter’s damp out of my pores.
I want to wander in the splendor of the
morning married to birdsong and to watch
a fly dissolving in the pool of rainwater
trapped inside the womb of a buttercup.
I want the intimate acts on the public stage
of the garden. To watch the shameless writhing
Japanese beetle orgy that makes lace of my roses.
Nature is an unabashed exhibitionist, yet tasteful,
she doesn’t flaunt. She knows a splash of red
can go a long way.
I know by midsummer I will thrash and shake
my rake, I will engage in battle to stake my
territorial claim over my horde of precious
leaves. And for it I’ll receive the lashes of
a thousand tongues, the sharp prick of
probosces on my skin.
I want the release of taproots of baby weeds
gently yielding to my tug, auxiliary rootlets
not yet interlacing with their brothers.
I want to watch the pinprick alveoli develop
into the shiny marbles of my grapevines,
the tightening tendrils curling around a leaf
until the strangle grasp is lignified.
I want the phototropic pulling of the passion
fruit vine, now finally walking the tight rope
of the fence. I want the war, the dance, the love
affair with nature’s thousand untamed acts.
SVETLANA LITVINCHUK is the author of her debut poetry chapbook, Only a Season (Bottlecap Features, 2024). Read more.