Spring Blossoms

I was briefly inspired to start converting my room-sized junk drawer back into a reading/sewing/guest room today. I say "briefly" because after about 20 minutes, I opened a box that contained all the journals from back before I decided that, for me, writing journals is little more than emotional self-indulgence.

After spending some time on memory lane, I am happy to report that the journals of my teens and twenties aren't all negative. Don't get me wrong: there is plenty of gloom and angst, but there is also a lot of joy. There is even poetry. That's right. MathMercy used to write poetry, and she is about to share some of it with you.

This poem was inspired by irises, and mine just bloomed yesterday. Finding it today was probably kismet.

The Faintest Scent

Spring is just moments away, 
Waiting. 
Breathless and giddy like a first date, 
Not yet late but hesitating 
So as not to seem too eager. 

Never one to give Them exactly 
What They Want, 
She hints at just enough 
To keep Them clamoring for more. 
Spring waits outside the door. 

A sigh heard faintly through the willow, 
Spring whispers.  
(Don't weep, my dear. I'm here.) 
She leaves just the faintest scent on pillows, 
Enough to open windows 
To invite her in. 

Springtime is my sin. 

I had put this poem on Poetry.com back in 2000 or 2001, so I was mildly surprised and amused to find that not only does Poetry.com still exist, but so does my poem. Let that be a lesson to you, kiddos. The internet is your permanent record. No matter how well you think you've hidden it, all of your future boy/girlfriends, college admissions boards, and future employers will know that you used to write poetry (gasp).

Incidentally, I'm not surprised if you don't know the scent of iris. Irises have a delicious honey aroma that will make you melt, but they don't like to broadcast it. You basically have to get right in there and risk walking around with pollen on your nose. You won't care, though, because you will be drunk on the scent of paradise. Drink it in and let springtime be your sin.