Signs of Spring

April 24 2020

One spring

it was a sapsucker

hammering loudly against the house.

I have since learned 
that these are male birds

in the frenzy of heat,

avian lotharios

displaying how loud they are

for the sake of sex.

Another, it was deer

emerging in curious abundance,

ghosting out from trees

and dashing across the roads;

stepping nimbly on the blacktop,
stopping to lick

its winter salt.

After a hard season, close to starved;

in moth-eaten coats,

ribs showing

eyes dull.

And the peepers, of course,

who are fortified with antifreeze

and chorus every spring

no matter what;

even when snow persists

and the lake remains frozen.

In cold rivulets

that have already begun to flow.

In small pools

in the forest underbrush,

warmed by decomposition

and strong April sun.

Soon, the geese will return,

cantankerous, in their ragged V's

as they jostle and honk.

They alight in freshly thawed fields,

strip-mining them

for grass and seeds and weeds

in an all-you-can eat buffet,

while liberally depositing

their foul waste.

But my first sign of spring

is the return of baseball

that most literary of sports.

The crack of the bat

the swell of the crowd

the announcer's southern drawl.

A game on the radio

in the theatre of the mind

from some lush green diamond,

driving at night

on a quiet back-road;

the heater's steady hum

the dashboard's warm glow.

Where the peepers

go quiet all at once

as my car approaches.

And where I keep careful watch

for the deer who slip across

under cover of dark.

I'm pleased how this turned out: each stanza having its own character, each animal representing a different sensibility. So there is the sexual heat of those single-minded birds, the desperation of the deer, and the persistence and resilience of the peepers. And finally, there are the social but fractious geese, as annoying as they are charismatic.

When I started, I had no idea where this poem was going. All I knew was I wanted to get at the sense of spring as an opening up, a beginning. I recalled my experience with the sapsuckers (it was more than once!), and this seemed a good start. After that, I felt committed to more animals!

I've written once before about their hammering, which gave me pause. Am I plagiarizing myself? (Is such a thing even possible?!!) ...But then, why not revisit? I often do, with the hope that the second try (or third) will turn out better: keeping at it, until I finally get it right!

When I'd gone on long enough, and felt I risked losing the reader, I couldn't resist my favourite and abiding sign of spring: opening day. How could I leave that out, even if it didn't quite fit with the rest of the poem? Especially this year, when the Covid-19 pandemic has indefinitely delayed baseball.

After that, I felt obliged to end with a stanza that called back to the animals. Which I hope cinches the poem tight, and gives a sense of completion.