A New Fever

by Kit Steitz

Overnight, we are spring again.

We loom under latticed tree

branches. The fog rises and

settles into the shadow of

our early upstarts, impetuous

beginnings with their toes

wiggling in crusted snow.

we are critical designers,

dissecting the curved mollusk

home, exposed in the melted

snow, the crush of slime beneath

our heel, a slick broken salt mine.

We are vindictive, glove-ready, to

untangle this hollow home and

plant Iris bulbs and daffodils.

Kit Steitz is a poet in Columbia, Missouri. They have an army of geriatric cats and dogs and almost exclusively write their poems while sitting on rocks in creeks and glaring at people.

You can find them @AmazingKitikins.