James Toupin

BUDS

I hardly noticed them

except an unexpected warmth

makes one look to see

the tight brown balls, new buds

not yet permitted color by the sun,

lined up along tree limbs

tense like schoolchildren

ready for holiday.

There is of course

an order to the seasons,

which children master by rote,

except some years abortive springs

coax buds to blossom

and ruin them in frost.

Just now our child would be

about to be born.