May Day
BY TESS TAYLOR
They go, the early flags, the gory maples

—
so too the daffodils & Lenten roses.
Other petals swirl & nights warm.

Buds thicken and cast shadows:
in a thunderstorm
I almost forget the ice that was.

Narcissi suckle watery paths;
meadows heap up emerald masses.
How green & I want to delight

except this undertow—it pulls so fast
passing before I recognize it—
like souls in Dante who can’t see the present,

white lilacs curdle in pre-summer heat.
The parade I barely noticed was beginning
is already halfway down the street.