45 Degrees
She lets out the cat and steps on the porch.
45 degrees.
In October it feels like an ice bath
but this morning, in March, a warm coat.
The lawn is yellow. Leaves are dead.
Branches are exposed like bones.
But up in a tree there’s a big messy nest
waiting for its owners to return.
Soon there will be bird songs,
insect buzzes,
and blooms
lots of blooms.
• • •
Farley Egan Green retired from a communications career and returned to writing poems about five years ago. She has since published in the Trestle Creek Review, Smoky Blue Arts and Literary Magazine, Emerge Literary Journal, Assisi: an Online Journal of Arts and Letters, and the collections That Thing with Feathers and Rupture: Writers in the Attic.