INSTRUCTIONS ON NOT GIVING UP BY ADA LIMÓN

Oct 16

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving

their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me. When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,

the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin

growing over whatever winter did to us, a return

to the strange idea of continuous living despite

the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,

I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf

unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

What is growing over “whatever winter did to” you? What is emerging from the mess and the hurt? Explore in your journal.
What really gets to you about spring? For the poet it’s the greening of the trees. What is it for you? Begin a piece—poetry or prose––with the words “It’s the (name it) that really gets to me…” After you’ve written your piece, reflect: Does what you most notice about spring reflect your internal response to this new season? And how?
How do leaves teach us about not giving up? Ponder the question in your journal.

Mary Reynolds Thompson

THIS IS WHAT I LONG FOR -- A GROUP POEM