It’s only been two days
But it’s true, I miss you
I tell myself it’s just a faze
To stop myself from feeling blue
but spring has never felt colder
My bed's never felt so empty
Now, all I can do is wait for summer
To bask in your warmth and all your beauty
In the library,
the woman walks,
cane in hand,
bundled in a red coat,
green scarf over her shoulders,
her husband beside her,
in his slate coat and cap,
a checkered scarf
tied at his neck.
She pushes her white hair off
her forehead and peers up
at the paintings on the wall,
splotched and messy and bright,
the work of elementary students.
Paused at the paintings
they think of times when
they were that young too,
under the open sky--
her leaving clothes on the line
him chasing his dog back home.
They didn’t know each other then,
or maybe they did.
The details slip away
like summer into fall.
It doesn’t matter now,
but there was a time when she
held his hand on their walks
instead of a cane.
Oh, the watercolors
ones Dan and Janie made,
he’d said he’d call,
or did Janie?
They can’t remember and think
of disintegrating paper
and blue drips on the table.
Instead, they finish their stroll
and both agree--
Lovely, wasn’t it?
Flowers in her hair like the first blossom of spring.
Swaying in the wind, picturesque.
The birds, for her, they sing.
When her branches lay bare and she's empty and colder,
Don't take it personally,
Don't be afraid to hold her.
Seasons come and go
And this you should know,
She will never be evergreen.
The radiant blossoms of spring,
Bursting from the frozen stagnant soil.
The snow blocking the plant's freedom.
An icy barrier telling the sprout it should wait to grow,
Halting its inevitable growth.
What is the snow for man?
What is our barrier from springtime sunlight?
Is it the establishments we toil away at?
The haze of winter,
Seems to never end now,
In our modern world.
pillows of wind, freezing the minuet dew drops on each blade of grass,
tiny ice goblets
dutifully every morning.
it whistles, slipping between
the barren trees,
curling around the crumbling houses
built in the '70s
a time when,
they may have kept us sheltered from Mother Nature's ghastly wrath.
whispering against the window panes, creeping past the glass frames.
icy hands claw their way across the floor, up the bed posts
beneath the sheets.
gliding cold fingers up my legs,
down my spine. wrapping themselves around my neck,
the fire in my eyes has died.
sweet release, a gradual fading light.
my heartbeat slows,
though inches away,
warm & unaware you lie.
boney tendrils squeezing
as I drift to my glacial demise.
The courtyard sits behind her home
Seventeen paces from the door
And inside its iron perimeter
Clusters of daffodils and irises
Hydrangeas and lilies are
All surrounded by large hardy plants
Resilient to harsh northern winters
She posted the fencing
And the pave stones and the
Shrubs and the flowers
She dug the bowls
And made them twice the size of the roots
And in the spring
She fed and nurtured the plantings
And tended them until now
As it is summer
And his marker has disappeared from view
The fullness and well-being of the garden
Enveloping the flat gray slate
A respite warm and lasting
Until the chill of autumn
Again lays bare the past
Buds, sprouts, shooting forth
From wet soil and melting snow.
The Animus stirring from their slumber,
Creaking open their eyes glued shut by the dark of winter.
Birds beginning to flutter again.
The cicadas crawling from the thawed ground.
Trees growing leaves, bringing with them the shades of summer.
The shades of chlorophyll pouring from the verdant forests.
Sunshine bathing the land in warmth and renewal.
Where man has worked all winter,
Animals have rested, to recover for the summer.
Man never recovered, he has forgotten how
To hibernate for the winter months.