The End of Spring

The End of Spring

With rustling fig leaves
through the glass windows
and sheaves of shuffling papers
across classroom desks,

the teacher sings like a swallow
and the children shift like pebbles
in their slippery seats.

They whisper and imagine
the stern door sweeping open
with a flood of feet.

Soon, they know; they watch
the clock shave the seconds
with its glacial sliding.
So cold, yet it burns.

How can we forget summer –
the music in our fingers,
the sizzle on our tongues
waiting to scream?

Even before the bell rings,
winds rush like a hurricane,
lips buzz with held breath,

and we hear in everything
the shiver of change.

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A couple nights ago I got an idea for a poem. In the past I've written some poems that focus on one image, one type of imagery, or a certain color, or the idea of sound-based images. This poem is a sound-based poem, but I also tried harder this time around to add the sound that I was using in the images to the words in the poem itself - in this case lots of s's, z's, and some f's. I hope you enjoy!