It’s a motley lot. A few still stand
at attention like sentries at the ends
of their driveways, but more lean
askance as if they’d just received a blow
to the head, and in fact they’ve received
many, all winter, from jets of wet snow
shooting off the curved, tapered blade
of the plow. Some look wobbly, cocked
at oddball angles or slumping forlornly
on precariously listing posts. One box
bows steeply forward, as if in disgrace, its door
lolling sideways, unhinged…
–“Mailboxes in Late Winter” by Jeffrey Harrison. Rest is here.
I searched and searched for a picture of mailboxes that fits this description. None seemed quite right — yet in my mind, I see them perfectly. And I know how they feel. Here in the Northeast, we got a fresh dusting of snow last night. I’m so ready to call it “early spring,” but “late winter” persists.
I’m waiting for news of spring: crocuses, robins, sun, that certain gentleness in the air. I love the way the poem captures those twin feelings of weariness and hope.
Poetry Friday is at My Juicy Little Universe.