Come Spring
Before Delphi
packed her duffle bag
she said nothing—
no fight, no bared words,
no hint of silence
through body language.
She packed this morning,
though for all I know
she packed last night.
It is time, was all she said.
And I thought
It is where.
The front door closed
after hugs, after tears,
after she put on
her new peacoat
that she found
at the thrift shop.
It is time for me
to write my own prophecy.
It is time for her to practice
speaking her own words.
After the front door closed
and her steps took her out of view
I found her worn tarot deck
on the raw pine bench—
a note read:
plant them in rows,
in the garden
come spring.
—K.P. Gurney, Albuquerque, NM
