Spring forward

Photo by seyfettin dincturk on Unsplash

Our stove remains in the past

I wasn’t angry

when the sound of bright keys woke me

from my dreaming

I left nothing important

There’s chirping of birdies in the white blossoms

along Bidwell St.

They’ve all taken to flower before the end of March

I dreaded to look at the time

We stayed still for the hour that we lost