Something is different today
by Marge Piercy
The days grow a little bit longer
imperceptible until it’s time to start
supper and I can see to the fringe
of pines past the vegetable garden.
Birds are just as frantic for seeds.
Ponds look as if you could walk
across. Branches are still sleeping.
Moon has a face of pocked snow.
Blizzards are whipping themselves
to frenzy on the edge of the map.
The ground has slammed shut.
It’s winter, sure, but something
has turned. The air weighs less.
Mornings don’t feel like dead midnight.
That goldfinch wears bright mating
plumage. The sun is gold, not orange.
The wheel is turning over. I’m feeling
a surge clambering up my spine. Sex
is waking, a slow opening in fox and cat
like a rose loosening its locked bud.
Copyright © 2017 by Marge Piercy.