First Day Of Spring

I stand behind you,
feel the muscled knots and knobs between your shoulder blades,
press painful buttons, Ohs escaping
into this room scored in daylight,
a lilac hue from the cobalt vase,
your book muffled by the closed cover,
three cookies left in Tupperware
that knew full this morning.

My eyes shut so my thumbs can see
the muscles’ mysterious tethers, linchpins,
to detangle fibers from spasms.

Where once there were dead sticks and stems,
overturned earth knows no rows
or floral signposts just yet.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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