}} The Early Spring Gets the Worm |

Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










The Early Spring Gets the Worm

The pink to brown whorls on the asphalt
Are earthworms, in the death throe of displacement,
Or already crushed underfoot or under tire
On driveways, walks, roads and pavement.
When I was younger, wickeder, I’d pour salt
On them and watch them writhingly expire,
And today I tiptoe past, guilty and penitent
As if I had been their death’s sole instrument.

And, in fact, I need look no further.
All winter I yearned for winter’s remission,
Prayed for less frost and more wildflower on the earth,
And was rewarded by the prompt attentions,
In March, of premature thunderous weather.
Sad that there’s death amid widespread rebirth,
And that worms are flooded for a reason
I would forget in a thirstier season.