All fall and then all winter
I meant to prune
the spent asparagus ferns.
Now, hidden beneath the dry stalks
and lush encroaching oxalis,
Tom and I discover fat spears
pushing up from the earth.
A white tulip peeps from under the hopseed,
and jasmine shares the first fruits
of its fragrance with the bees and me.
Workdays that began and ended
in the dark two months ago
are now bookended by light,
and the slate blues of my winter doldrums
are yielding to pastel hues.
Within me optimism stirs
like a chick inside an egg
who hears her mother’s chirps and coos.
This school year,
my last as a college librarian,
is exactly half over,
and I feel change coming
like the light
slowly swelling the days.
What used to weigh heavy
is starting to slip away.
Already I delete incoming emails
that no longer apply to me.
Soon I will shred papers,
give away office curios,
and on the last day
surrender the keys
that have been for twenty-one years
in my safekeeping.
For now, though, I am waiting
as I started to wait
when I planted bulbs last fall.
What colors will bloom?
Which flowers will flourish?
With gratitude to Lea Haratani for the title
The Kingdom of Enough 