Gratitude for what’s new now

When we,
best friends,
held each other's faces in our hands
like crystals
as he discovered something about himself.

When the eddy rushed,
the water
flowing in separate directions,
then that cloud uncovered the moon
and it shined
silver in the sun.

The fury of a high stream,
too loud to talk over.

When we caught the golden hour
but not the sunset,
so we woke up for sunrise,
and he made me an extra layer
with his arms.

Or standing in a friend's garden,
the thick lather of new shampoo,
even a pair of freshly shaven legs,
clean between the sheets.

But mostly, the fact that
it's all good
even when it's bad.

I so like spring

There it goes again,
the half tilt—
a spill off
into the past.
Does everyone have to try
to forget the people
who have hurt them?

If I poured myself a cup of glitter
to dunk a cookie in
it would feel good to be
so absurd.
But I'm a grown person—
an artifact, or worse,
a filing cabinet full of them.
And it's spring,
and I'm complaining about the dog
a couple backyards over
like my mom does
and her mother probably did
and her father had to have also—
at least once.

And who's to escape
the inevitable?
And who's to complain
that they have an inevitable to complain about?
When it's spring,
and in spring the dogs bark
and the past appears,
just like that,

on the backs of the ants
marching determinedly,
slipping in
right under the back door.