Monday, March 20, 2023

Song for Spring Equinox by Diane di Prima


It is the first day of spring, the children are singing

(they are supposed to be sleeping) the clock is ticking

the cats are waiting for supper, one of them pregnant

kittens to herald the spring, nothing is blooming

nothing seems to bloom much around farms, just hayfields and corn

farms are too pragmatic, I look at ads

for hydrangea bushes, which I hate they remind me of brooklyn

for chinese wisteria vines, which I can’t picture

but they sound exotic and mysterious

a kind of blue purple, I decide I’ll get some

will I be disappointed, will they be yellow?

will I hate the Shetland pony we are buying

will we run out of wholewheat flour this week

before a new supply drives up from the city?

oh, it is very like being a pioneer,

but then everything is in this country, and in the country

especially. it was like being a pioneer on 5th street, too

and houston street, and amsterdam avenue

and in brooklyn, under the streetlights growing up

rollerskating at dusk with stickball games in the street

was the most pioneery of all,

it is slightly boring,

it tastes a lot of the times crossword puzzle

and ordering things thru the mail, which never come

or turn out wrong, or come the wrong color (wisteria)

I can’t blame Alan for planning to go to India

to free his kundalini, so that his ears peel

or something dreadful happens to his physique

we are built for the exotic, we americans, this landscape leaves us

as open as a piece of chocolate cream pie

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