Spring has sprung in Austin, just in time for the SXSWers to imagine that we live here in a perpetual state of budding leaf and blossom. And so, along with the sense of unease and dread thrumming through us as the war in Iran unfolds, there is also the sense of possibility that always accompanies this time of year. I love this poem for its sense of unknowingness, and its belief that the good is just waiting for us to find our way to it. May it be so.
“The plum
you’re going to eat next
summer doesn’t know
you exist.”
