Friday Poetry Blogging: My First

I have never blogged Friday poetry. This evening, however, I picked off the shelf one of my few books of poetry, and opened to this. How apt it is.

Confession: I adore this man, this poet. I see him rarely, but he is very dear to me. He is one of my father's best friends. I was named after his ex.


Okanagan
by Dave Margoshes

Will spring never
arrive this year?
Already our day
and bloodless snow is spitting
spitefully through air
frigid as a long-distance call,
the sky's lungs
congested with phlegm
as yours were, a long
pneumonia ago.

Across the mountains
though the snow is thick
and pink as tapioca
beneath cherry trees
we would climb,
their hands raised
to the heavens with
surprise and joy. O
kanagan, its heart
is breaking
with the aching wait,
its arms trembling
to be filled with you,
the way mine are,
spring, winter, summer, fall