For three days in spring,
a corner of the yard
framed by young berry canes
vibrant green, a coastal lushness
That will last into July here.
.
not three days in a row,
and maybe not three days,
but pieces, hours,
like the 30 minutes she sat
in still afternoon sun,
listening to winter dispel.
.
And when it all came together,
a warm air, heavy with grass,
Stained with new berry growth
Smelling like last year,
And the year before
All the way back to her childhood.
.
And, for a moment,
A connected-to-everything moment
She would lose sight of the back door,
Sitting ajar,
Letting out some bits of late afternoon
television nonsense
Into the wafting green air.
.
that corner
where the fence ducks behind,
and under the old window
where the laundry has always been
and where, each year,
about this time,
the grass and berries
rise up to consume her
where she sits
for three days each spring
Shaken Rain 