City Spring

Up early again
but this time, 
raised up out of sleep
by contentment.  
Winter’s
almost over.
Can’t hear a bird out there yet.

Next door, though, Luis
and his battered old pickup
are rattling around in the driveway,
meaning most likely
he’s found work again at last,

and since he’s a carpenter,
a framer of homes, 
that’s a likely
sign of spring — that

and all the gray trash
we thought we’d lost
in all those storms
peeking out
of the shrinking snowbanks
where it’s been hiding,

and this suddenly familiar,
utterly different light
between the triple deckers
which now look like
they need a good wash.

Waking up content —
in need of a good wash myself,
not yet pissed at Luis
for being so noisy so early,
not yet shamed 
into picking up
the gray trash (waiting
sensibly
till those banks melt
a bit more),
knowing 
there will be birds
and green
soon enough.

A city spring
doesn’t come in
abruptly,
offering instead
something more
in keeping with
how dark it has been
for a while now —
not wanting to shock us
by exploding
into lovely
all at once.