Rachel Riffel
You were born into April,
when the snowmelt stampedes from the
mountain, down the falls
and into the rushing river.
Cradled by basalt
and garnished with cityscape
it finds its new purpose as a
salmon-road, a merganser’s meeting place.
Like the river, you flooded our life
and made us forget who we were without you.
Just as the lilacs gasped for breath,
you bawled your new fragrance into spring and
demanded to exist.
As I pushed you up the sidewalk hills
of our blossoming neighborhood,
I couldn’t help but feel crushed by
the weight of myself
and your gorgeous nose.