Winter seemed reluctant to release its hold.
Chicago, pregnant with spring,
still clung to her Siberian chill,
blowing through April’s sunny days and
windows-open, grilling-on-the-patio weather,
like the woman in labor, scared
of what the new season might bring.
Spring seemed hesitant to emerge.
It hid in the last bank of snow,
now mostly dirt and icy rocks,
like the baby being born, not ready
for the traumatic change.
We held our breath, like family members
in the waiting room, praying for a
speedy delivery, a healthy baby.
We let it go and watched it
condense in the frozen air around us.