Week 38

My cigar smoke swims through the air,

slowly migrates with the wind, north today,

as jays and finches sing about spare

time for the journey south; migrations

always seem in progress, never seem to

end. And salmon run hundreds of miles

to reach their home stream, instinct

in waves urging them forward. Chinook

wait almost a year after hatching

before they head to the ocean. Monarchs

float from Canada to Mexico in a matter

of months; but T, when you finally feel warm,

and travel the three inches to me, will

you wonder what season it is? Will you

wish you were back? It has been January

for months now.

John Spiegel is an English teacher in Springfield, Ohio. He is a slow reader and has an East facing bay window. His poetry and essay can be read or are forthcoming in Garbanzo Literary Journal, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Birds Piled Loosely, and others.