Spring chill snarls under the duvet catching me by ankle
The one that folds under strain and throbs with the low pressure.
It drags me out of bed in to the silvery sunlight, lunar landscape
To hear the birds are twittering, see the snow dunes have all but melted.
Spring so alike, still has the dappled pelt of winter.
What if we lived in that house and
The pond was full of fish.
We could pack a basket, a lump of butter, a hunk of bread, rods on shoulders.
Hooking so many we wouldn’t even bother with a bobber.
And when we were sick of catching fish, we could throw down our rods
Ramble down the hill and pick all the raspberries we could ever eat.
Then in the winter we could drill a hole in the ice and
Yell in to the deep, Hey fish! How’s it going?
What if, what if, what if
Wishes were fishes.
In the hinterland between together and apart we took a trip to Montreal.
That piece of garbage car broke down the whole way there and back.
Watching Canada pass, sitting in a tow truck, hanging out in lay bys, I knew I was pregnant.
That bloom would not fruit but when we got back
I knew I wanted to marry you.