Curtis Harrell

Equinox
 
Spring shows up, familiar as the mail truck
On this Tuesday morning, rain peppering
The sidewalk, the smell of earthworms blooming
At the bus stop, one shoe hopelessly stuck
In a galosh, the clouds so thick the lights
Stay on ‘til noon, and her face reflected
In the dark window. This humid lesson
Suggests balance: right and wrong, day and night.
 
So I relish the ride home, finding her
Beneath the awning in her yellow coat,
Raising her into the rain-slicked basket
Of my slippery bicycle, our ears
Filling with rain as we pedal and coast
Through the curtains of our newest banquet.