The snow melted.
Clouds thinned.
And there,
blue sky.
This might be a new season.
I didn’t forget about the arrival of spring
but I didn’t remember, either.
Balancing between the two,
like sitting on a seesaw’s fulcrum
it wasn’t until the bursts of new blooms appeared
that I tipped into remembering.
Forsythia,
called ForCynthia as a kid.
Tulips,
like the ones my mother planted in front of our house.
Daffodils,
so perfect they look fake.
These just born flowers
flash echoes of the past.
And so,
I remember now.