Out of Season

by Mary Brunini McArdle

Childhood particles are in the air.
I taste them in my lungs.
Two weeks of icy skies and winter winds
Have ended, permitting the sun
To warm us till at least mid-afternoon;
Street lights come on early, long
Before night falls... the slip of sun
Savored before it disappears again.

A day like this reminds me of my
Grandmother’s house, and numerous
False springs when we wore summer outfits
Far too soon and shivered at the
Morning services. She gave us breakfast
And chided us for being without sweaters.

But we breathed in the smell of grass
And hot biscuits and honey and sweet memories of
Forever seasons living in our hearts.
Here is a moment of a brief, unusual nature,
Out of season, leaving much too quickly,
And taking childhood with it.