There must be a word for this urge
to pick the needles from a pine, one by one,
when the wind blows across a branch and
each fascicle twirls to stir the sky—
Instead, to watch the petals drift to the ground
until a burst of leaves weaves a green canopy.
The rain coats each leaf until it shines
like an emerald exhumed from the dirt.
Even the ground and the brick yearn
for droplets to release their minerals petrichor.
The raindrops like a hand on my shoulder;
The sky affirms, yes, you are again new.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 6.
Tija Tippett is a Research Coordinator in Washington State. She holds a Bachelor of Science in Physics from the University of Washington Bothell. She participates in local poetry events and open mics. She has no previous poetry publications.