Everywhere you turn is luck

My favorite line, from my favorite poem, oft excerpted here yet somehow still not often enough.

Because this morning I woke up singing oldies and drinking songs and missed Ireland, but would rather be here.

Calling Card

Lisa Shields

Too wedded to winter,
not expecting the warm
one breath of wind
from your quarter,
and I could hear
the first solid crack,
knew the river would flow
not today,
not tomorrow,
but ah—soon.

Just a day or two
from pussywillow down,
crocus crouched
with johnny jump up impatience,
I did not beckon for Spring,
did not reckon she would come
despite the need for her,
certain she would dally in Paris,
romp in Rome,
anything but arrive
sans fanfare and flounce,
no thought to her missing baggage.

I had no welcome,
no fancy tea laid on,
so tired inside
that simply raising my arms
seemed too huge a thing.
But Madame Equinox
simply arrived,
put on the kettle,
and blew her breath
through my house,
making herself at home
as if she knew
how much I wished
for an end to cold bitter,
dusting the last leaves
of a forgotten fall
with pollen confetti,
to leave her card,
the sort of RSVP
I can never ignore.

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