You Wait for Spring
Julie Brooks Barbour
You were happy sunning in a windowsill and sleeping in a husk.
Darkness was never your home, not the swamp or tunnels
beneath the earth. Outside in a field full of flattened grain,
you searched the sky for birds and hunted for seeds
among brown stalks. When winter came you wrapped yourself
in a brittle leaf and followed a mouse underground.
Because you were small, everyone believed you needed a caretaker,
a life in one place. They took you to shadows and expected you happy
and flourishing despite the fact you needed air and light.
When flowers bloomed in spring, your buried your face in their petals,
dusted your fingers with pollen, welcomed the tunes of birds,
the sky again full of light and wings.
Julie Brooks Barbour is the author of Small Chimes (Aldrich Press, 2014) and two chapbooks: Earth Lust (forthcoming from Finishing Line Press, 2014) and Come To Me and Drink (Finishing Line Press, 2012). Her poems have appeared in Waccamaw, diode, storySouth, Prime Number Magazine, The Rumpus, Midwestern Gothic, Blue Lyra Review, and Verse Daily. She is co-editor of the journal Border Crossing and an Associate Poetry Editor at Connotation Press: An Online Artifact. She teaches composition and creative writing at Lake Superior State University.