As I have in the past, I'll be loosely following the prompts on the official NaPoWriMo site (www.napowrimo.net ). This poem is in response to yesterday's "earlybird" prompt to write a haibun (a prose poem that ends in a haiku)--and, quite unintentionally, it contains an actual early bird.
Cold Spring, 2017
Winter keeps the tail of March between forefinger and thumb.
The snow is gone, but we can’t shake the habit: boots and coats, chili and
heated van seats. Watery sky is crisscrossed with sycamore skeletons and flocks
of starlings that turn on a dime. The crocuses are bullets waiting to fire. As
usual, the housecats don’t care. Dawn is pale blue; coffee, at least, is hot.
Outside
one bird scratches the
fat glossy silence, early
for choir practice.
