Judith Robbins will read from her second collection of poems, The Bookbinder’s Wife, on Sunday, May 27 at 1 p.m. at Barnes & Noble, Augusta.
The Bookbinder’s Wife will be available, as will be her first collection, The North End. There will be time for discussion during and after the reading.
I skirt the violets
careful not to crush their delicate faces.
In so doing,
I step on dandelions,
an imposition of caste under my foot.
Easter is three weeks old,
old enough to stand on its legs
and walk the landscape speaking life
into dead grasses, reluctant buds
icy hearts of men who have given up.
Easter is what it does:
renews to left, right, and center.
Its seamless garment passing over,
the grass goes green.
Off you go on your tractor to split the wood.
Seems I’m always hailing you from a distance,
you at your work, I at mine watching you,
recording your work on a day in spring
that is already looking through summer
to the cold trap of winter beyond, knowing
the flare of color in fall a brief fire
that will not last but will end as we will––
brown and sere––pushed off our branch
by the buds of another spring.