May may be
lonely and confusing and sad and
frustrating and scary and distant and
boring and abnormal and lonely –
I know I said lonely already and I’m
saying it again – but no matter what
May may be,
it will lead us to June.
Soon after, we will tumble into July
and August, past strawberries and tomatoes,
tall stalks of corn nestled in their husks.
Down the road, the crunch of autumn awaits,
with silent snowfalls lurking just beyond.
Before you know it, we’ll turn the calendar
to 2021, to 2022, to 2030,
one auld lang syne after another,
change and celebration and discovery and joy
weaving into everything.
way off in the future,
it will turn out that
May – this May, this very May with her
loneliness and frustration –
will lead us to
wherever, whenever, whatever
that may be.