Spring by Emily Brink

The Irish name for a shrew

means “little blind one of the grasses.”

She digs her trenches to the rhythm of be-bop

killing the flowers who now lie on the lawn

like the newly homeless.

The shrew has the same motto as my niece on Facebook:

“Don’t take my kindness for weakness,

because I will fuck you up.”

There are two types of lotto players,

the ones who pick their numbers,

and the ones who let the machine

pick for them.

Spring is the season of beginner’s luck,

of money growing on trees.

The Chinese celebrate Spring by pasting door-gods

on their doors, so evil spirits can’t enter.

Here we put up surveillance cameras,

which does not stop the shrew.

“Ghosting” is what millennials call the practice

of not showing up for a date.

It might be easier to let groundhogs in top-hats decide that.

 


Emily Brink lives in the SF Bay Area and her work has recently appeared in Arsenic Lobster.