Spring Rite

Blue

skies, green-

leafed trees near

the playground. Pry

glitter from the dirt,

build a maypole of quartz

shards made smooth by countless children’s

hands, most having known only play

but not all. Some children’s hands have touched

what children should not be made to touch, some

hands have turned into peaches from shame they will

bear like the low-hanging fruit they became to some

uncle or father, easy to reach for, too jelly-

like to defend themselves. What do these children celebrate

around the colorful maypole with their exuberant friends?