Portland, Spring 2021
Spring comes anyway.
Yellow leads the way, the dainty daffodils
bobbing their little trumpets in the
breeze,
a Mardi Gras parade.
Spring is active, a newly toned muscle
Full of colorful determination and
melodious strength.
Green startles the eye as the gray world
begin to come alive.
On the streets,
Tender pink blossoms mix like confetti
with
Cigarette butts, syringes and
Soiled paper masks.
Spring pushes up through cracks in the
sidewalk,
Crowds graffiti and torn tents.
The rain falls balmy at times,
And feels like possibility.
Spring in Oregon is fragrant and frothy,
sensual abundance.
Rainbows beckon,
Saturating the sky
From behind steel bridges.
An embarrassment of riches, really.
Spring looks forward,
Never back.
And we emerge too,
looking at each other again,
shyly, unmasked
After the longest winter of our lives.
Spring cares not about
Car jackings, shootings, and pandemics.
Stocks plunging, war raging.
Spring comes anyway
On terms and time
all her own.
We can throw at her everything
In our ugly arsenal.
And in spite
or maybe because of these things,
Spring comes.
Amy Claire Massingale
Amy Claire Massingale is a Pacific Northwest-based poet with deep Southern roots, writing on love, loss and family. Her work has appeared in The New York Times Tiny Love Stories, and was the featured story for the print edition; and other literary journals including Cathexis, Moonstone Arts, and several others. Amy was the recipient of the first place prize for her COVID story entitled "Essential" in the Humans of the World 2022 contest. It has only taken 40 years, but in poetry, Amy has finally found her voice. She lives in Portland with her family who inspire her daily with their love and support.