Jamaica Pond Redux
Tomorrow is the first day of spring
and the pond settles like a missing
vowel in the word you didn’t know
how to pronounce. Primavera.
First green. The small thumbs
of plant life spit through the soil.
How many times did we walk
this path? How many times did we
pray to leaf into unspoiled limbs?
Canada geese warble in the drifting
sun. I want to undress their knowing
into another version of us wading
into the water. Waiting for seasons
to slip past. Like pert minnows.
Like an algal mat. Green memories
in a field of wanting. The early
morning dew collecting on my brow.
When I was younger, I used to build
houses. Now I dream of building
a life. Cycles of return, the large loops
that crush oyster shells into dirt.
Fossilized skeletons under our soles,
flip-flops, running, jogging. Grackles
in treetops. What comes and comes
back? I’m somewhere. You’re some-
where. The grackles shut their eyes.
The geese venture north.
Jordan Escobar is a poet in Jamaica Plain, MA. His work is featured or forthcoming in Willow Springs, Beloit Poetry Journal, Colorado Review and elsewhere. He currently divides his time teaching at Emerson College and Babson College and working as a professional beekeeper.