A Poem by Marianne Szlyk

Further into Spring

The trees by the metro
are chilled hands in fingerless gloves,
evergreen ivy wrapped around
their knuckles.

Smaller trees are fingers
wound with vines
like rosaries;
the old leaves are beads.

Trees wait for the wind to stop.
They wait for new leaves.
They wait to touch the warm sun.

The trees in our neighbor’s yards
grow fat crows
and fuzzy red buds.
These trees are not cherries
or dogwoods.

They are black locusts
and red maples,
ordinary shade trees in May or June.
They are not waiting for anything.
Their time will soon be gone.

The new tree in our yard
spits cherry blossoms
into the air
as the sun sets.
This tree does not wait either.
It’s time to bloom.

Marianne Szlyk is an associate professor of English at Montgomery College, Rockville as well as an associate editor at the Potomac Review. This poem is a sequel to "Winter into Spring," a poem that appeared in Jellyfish Whispers. Most recently, her poems have appeared in the Ishaan Literary Review and Aberration Labyrinth. Other poems may appear soon in the Blue Hour Literary Magazine.