Poem of Early Spring

Doors are open
Winter left,
apparently, by appearances

Before a wedding I officiated
the groom’s younger son
was digging
in the dirt
in his suit
silent, intent
no one too concerned

I stood close, watched
as he dug with a small stick
etching a line on the edge
of a flowerbed

“Dirt is great, isn’t it?”—not really asking a question
it was more a statement I sensed he would agree with

“Yeah”

“Sometimes people find arrowheads in the dirt”
He glanced at me: “Really?”
I smiled, nodded

“With a metal detector?”
“No, they aren’t made of metal;
Native Americans made them from dark stones”

“Oh, Uh huh”

As he slid his stick in the soil
some sprinkled on his shoe, and mine

I left it

It was time for a celebration
He was the ring-bearer

I thought he might bear the earth

too

Chris Highland
March 2020