A Poem by Adrie Rose
What I will keep is the first spring sun on skin,
the strangers across the street hugging
as if it is the last time, pausing
only to kiss fiercely. I will keep
the tender crocus peeling open
the snow to insist
on color again. I will keep
my place here, though I know
I will also keep questioning it,
keep lifting the cup of cold water
to my lips, setting flame to the candle,
keep saying here, and yes,
and thank you, and what next?
March 2020
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