Signs of the Season
by Henry Rappaport
1
Rosie says
the bush is December
thinks three weeks freeze got it
is flip and sad at the half masts.
Meanwhile, the sun knocks its head
on the year’s first bee.
What am I sure of?
That everything I want
is on the table
in the empty glass?
2
The man is sad
who is writing about sadness
whose graveyard
is the woman he loved
who hung November from a tree
discovered March
and broke his heart.
He fell like true dirt
packed a bag
and found a white cat
to nap on his lap.
3
One good Friday,
John Donne and I
dragged our asses out of April
to the library of downtown Syracuse.
He felt half giddy and half sad in the turnaround
asked if I would promise to remember.
Now every spring he blows it
and I remember
Syracuse.
4
Is the world
friend
to circumstance
that smiles at the window
as if it sees through to itself
and does it
adore
when sleep comes
the mortal enemy?
5
I listened to the woman on t.v.
say I’ll be right back.
I waited and I heard her sing
nothing
the old wisdom says
lasts forever
not emptiness
not an empty glass
not even a sugarless bush
into which sugars flow.