A March Poem: Door Mat

Coir door mat

Can fit two feet

And ten toes

But just the ones

That are yours.

A tambourine knock

And a chime doorbell.

Wait just a

Moment

As the screen

Swings open

For you.

The sky is changing

Spinning and shifting

No longer

Cloud covered.

It wasn’t a

Thunderstorm

That was coming.

Spring was approaching

Starting from above

Before spiraling down

In an orbit of its own.

A new season

A brand new feeling.

Sweeping the grounds,

Lands, hills,

Mountains, oceans,

Deserts, and islands

And absolutely everything

In between.

Spring was no secret

Recognized and realized

By any pair

Of lucky eyes.

The sky

Like that of a

Snake

Shedding the

Winter grays.

The frostbitten clouds

Seemed to be

A myth.

Robin’s egg palette

Swatches and swaths

Of the most true.

At heel level

Dirt bubbled

As buds peeked

And poked.

A birthed green

Ivy innocence.

Appearing only a dot

From the sight

Of feathered flocks.

Its very first sunshine sip

And moon beam munch

Were orbs of

Love.

Sprouts became

Stalks

Stalks became

Stout.

Like a tiny toddler

Teething

Leaves

Earned their edges

Round like waffles

Jagged like jigsaw

Curling and climbing

Up cement porches

Twisting around whicker

Seats and rocking chairs.

Crawling and swallowing

Porch columns

Brass address numbers

Hidden beneath

Jungle-like vines.

Flowers bloomed

Vivaciously

Petals poofed

And puffed

Like ballerina tutus.

A glorious, wondrous

Dance

When the wind

Shuddered.

White, pink, yellow.

Tulip, daffodil, pansy.

The rain drops

Were a witch’s

Potion.

Roots inhaling gulps.

Growing stronger

Getting longer

Floral taller

Than a cottage

And thicker than

A chimney of

Stone or brick.

Vines progressed

In their stretch.

Extending like

A finger.

Greenery pressing

The chime doorbell.

The screen swinging open.

And Spring was here.

A season too large

To coil upon

A single door mat.

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