For two weeks the plants
overwintering on the front porch
have waved at me each time
I come or go, their gentle signal
that it’s time to move back to the back,

to the deck under the big sycamore
for far more fresh air and sunshine
than they see all winter. But they’re
safer from frost tucked up close
to the old stucco house, even if
the two tall ficus lose more than
half their leaves between fall
and spring.

The poor withered aloe plant looks
pathetic—it always does—but
it’ll perk up in a few weeks, along
with the leggy begonias, with some
fresh light.

Somehow the bright-eyed
Johnny Jump-Ups remain perky,
the little tri-color violas reseeding
with no help from me.

Year after year the patio/porch pots
prove to be the most forgiving plant
friends. Even the round bowl of
heat-seeking succulents has thrived,
even as these lizard plants and I are
jonesing for spring sun, craving
heat to thaw our roots.

And as I carefully walk each one
down the driveway like a bride
en route to the altar, I whisper,

Happy spring! Welcome back to
soaking up the long-light days,
basking in sprinkler showers,
sprouting and growing, truly,
finally, warm at last.

***

If you’d like to listen to Jan read this poem, click here.