It’s pseudo-spring and my neighbor down the road is
in the very human ritual of spring cleaning. His name
could be Jerry, John or Jeff. The name doesn’t
matter, though I notice I’m doing the very human
action of assumption. In this case, I am both
assuming a name and the action of spring cleaning.
To me JerryJohnJeff is washing away the winter
hibernation. We both would probably agree that after
this winter, it feels right to savor unautomated heat.
We both have a primal desire to shed the sunless
season and feel heat envelop our skin. I’m assuming
JerryJohnJeff can’t even handle the thought of just
doing nothing but basking in the sun. Enjoying the
sun is passive, and we both have concluded that to
create a meaningful human experience one must be
active. This is a very human assumption. We have
not yet earned laying on the semi-wet spongy grass
to enjoy the sun today. So, I walk past him, and he
continues to dry off his freshly-washed classic
convertible. Neither of us truly acknowledge one
another. We do not know each other. All
JerryJohnJeff knows is a woman is walking, her
shoes slapping the sidewalk. All I know is that he
holds his leaf blowers’ hose as if it were as
fragile as a newborn baby in the crook of his arm, and I
recognize the sound it creates as the air whips out—
hot, awakened, wailing—and that for at least a few
seconds that is how both of us sounded when we
witnessed the weight of the immeasurable lights
outside of the womb.
[Original layout of this poem displayed above, under accessible text].
Lindsay Collier is an Akron Ohio native. She is a recent graduate of the NEOMFA program at Kent State University. She has forthcoming publication in Barbar and Crayfish Mag and has previous publications in The Words Faire, Poets Choice and Ashbelt. When she is not reading or writing, Lindsay can be found running down various Akron sidewalks, shredding carrots for homemade carrot cake, or attempting to befriend birds and neighborhood cats.