It is zero degrees out

and I am filling my seed trays

I have sent off the queries

and manuscripts

to places even colder

pent up energy

propels me through the empty house

looking for useful activities

There is twenty inches of rimey snow outside

hard enough to dent one’s ideals

inside I am handling dry soil

individual seeds

that have laid patiently in their paper

waiting

they think spring is coming

it is all they think of

I level the soil knowing

that without me

there is no hope for them

even with me

their future

looks precarious

-

Michael Goldman

Originally published in The Fourth River, April 2015, p.85