Remembering How to Sing

 

Yesterday began with dying camels and starving

polar bears, but just two hours later a blooming

plant popped up in the garden that had never 

been there before: its white curled petals opening 

around its yellow face and, just like that,

my heart turned itself towards spring. The light

is lasting a smidgen longer in the evening,

the sky is a lighter shade of pale.

The apocalypse may be on its way

but it isn't here yet. And it doesn't take much -

the big waves rolling in, the way

the rounded slopes of Wah-nah-jus

circle round the bay, a small bloom

arriving from who-knows-where,

the subtle hint of spring, and my

buoyant heart remembers

how to sing.

 Inspired by Sorrow Is Not My Name by Ross Gay.