the violence of spring

spring returns brutishly

below the beautiful petals transparent against the blue 
is the strength that pushed through the frozen solid ground 
with absolute conviction, it draws from the depth,
pushes it up and up and up,

little bulbs covered in papery brown skins turn into living fanfare
despite all the concrete the bird songs echo off the glass menageries
dead brown twigs surge with green blood 

when the light hits just right

everything alive is beautiful and bright
flaunting victory over the days of hunched shoulders and white knuckles

the absence hits with a deafening scream

we are all back in the midst of this madness
through it all, death carves out laser sharp edges of ones in eternal stillness where nothing changes

gentle spring
kind spring
violent and unstoppable spring
the light makes it possible to see
the hollows where no shadow casts
as it is empty


i called mom and said that spring returned with a thundering conviction of repetition-
we didnt say but we both heard the other,

the repetition of annual crashing of my brother, car crumpled like a joke on a paper,

spring, the apollonian youth ripping the ground and taking him, like a hand that rips the fresh buds, to decorate one's table for a small fancy,

my granny went under the cloak of deep winter, a timely departure, returning to be a seed-
seed that got planted deeply in my heart,

my brother dived into the void, no warning,
gone


and
all those who will never see another spring
six feet under
pitch dark

every spring, around this time, i consciously/unconsciously wait for this assault of spring,
where the irreversible losses drip down my face, salty tears- that saltiness preserving the freshness of such wound, as spring flaunts its beauty and youth. it is exactly 1 week to the anniversary.
wash and repeat.