{"id":3708,"date":"2023-04-21T01:00:14","date_gmt":"2023-04-21T05:00:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/umaine.edu\/spire\/?p=3708"},"modified":"2023-04-21T09:06:06","modified_gmt":"2023-04-21T13:06:06","slug":"borodkin","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/umaine.edu\/spire\/2023\/04\/21\/borodkin\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Series: The Cold Stretch; At the Cusp of Equinox"},"content":{"rendered":"
By Sass Borodkin\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Winter: the slow blink<\/span><\/p>\n of light returning.<\/span><\/p>\n The lid opening<\/span><\/p>\n so sluggishly<\/span><\/p>\n we hunker into the darkness,<\/span><\/p>\n praying toward the thaw,<\/span><\/p>\n aching to tell the sun<\/span><\/p>\n how grateful we are<\/span><\/p>\n for the whiff of<\/span><\/p>\n returned peach blossoms<\/span><\/p>\n and the echo of kids giggle-jumping<\/span><\/p>\n through the sprinkler.<\/span><\/p>\n The hunker feels like a drag<\/span><\/p>\n despite its red-carpet rollout<\/span><\/p>\n for soil hydrated enough<\/span><\/p>\n for pumpkin pie harvests<\/span><\/p>\n and daffodils.<\/span><\/p>\n I miss the light,<\/span><\/p>\n but the blink gets me ready<\/span><\/p>\n to meet it again.<\/span><\/p>\n So, I\u2019ll try to be welcoming.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ll try.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n I love the colors I can see at the door edge of winter\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Spring peeking through golden corn stalks from last harvest\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n brazenly poking through thinning snow<\/span><\/p>\n row by defiant row<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The blue expanse behind framing storm clouds\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n bringing that golden to glow\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n against the soft white waning blanket of winter’s end<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I can almost smell the ripe yellow of corn to come.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" By Sass Borodkin\u00a0 The Cold Stretch Winter: the slow blink of light returning. The lid opening so sluggishly we hunker into the darkness, praying toward the thaw, aching to tell the sun how grateful we are for the whiff of returned peach blossoms and the echo of kids giggle-jumping through the sprinkler. The hunker […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2031,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[42],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3708","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-spire-2023-issue"],"yoast_head":"\nThe Cold Stretch<\/span><\/h3>\n
\nAt the Cusp of Equinox<\/span><\/h3>\n