A poem–Spring 2024
Don't Tell Me
How odd to wake
with a song stuck
in my head, though
I had not heard it
for years
before then.
It waited quietly--
like the woman
in Pixie Cove1--
for the whisper
of her lover.
It breathed shallowly
like the bulb
of the tulip
suspended
until spring.
It sat dormant
in my unconscious
ready to call out
the rouse
of my smile.
The words blared--
keeping me awake:
"Please--
don't tell me
everything
is wonderful2
now!"
