Vox Populi
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Molly Fisk: National Politics
Even though we watch every year
as the snow melts and runs along ditches
and gutters, finds the low places,
enters the creeks and the culverts, fanning
out wider to cover the gravel of rivers,
washing mud from the banks, testing
the bridges, splashing, tumbling granite,
even when crocuses push their green
crowns through the leaf mold, the succulent
not-quite-spring muck and then open,
flashing the earliest colors and mornings
inch their way upward by the half-minute
and evenings last just a notch longer,
barely perceptibly stretching the days
we still can’t believe it, we’re sure every winter
will hold us forever, that hoping is useless. It’s over.
© Molly Fisk, 2018
Vox Populi 
I am grateful Marilyn forwarded this poem. Thank you for the gift of this
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