Poem: stephanie dicarlo
When Trees are in Bloom
A drop of sunshine touches my skin, bleeds into my veins,
sweet, and light and warm, and the icicles hanging along my rib cage
begin to thaw.
Water trickles and glistens, sweet and cool along my fingertips,
puddles at my feet, diamonds glistening in the dirt that
turn to crystals swirling in clouds across a sea overhead,
sweeping and endless.
Lungs expand as the earth exhales a sigh.
Expanses of blue and warm rays of yellow
turn leaves the leafiest green.
Light quivers and flutters and peeks between branches
and dots the ground like freckles.
Vines curl and spiral up tree trunks in a clingy, harmless embrace.
Dandelion seeds ride the breeze, daylight stars that whirl and
stick delicately to wet skin, a wobbling kind of kiss.
A blade of grass brushes my ankle, a reminder that it’s down there,
a sharp, unlucky name for one who just wants to touch.
Acorns skitter into the emerald shade of the trees,
nestling among the flowers there as leaves move overhead.
The shadows wave hello, how are you?
They’re friendly, of course they are. They’re made from the sun.
about the writer: stephanie dicarlo
Steph works in HR by day, takes art classes by night, and can be found reading or writing at any time (and if she’s not, she’s thinking about it). She lives in Rhode Island and likes to walk its many bike paths on sunny days, and harbors an intense love of pop music and ice cream.