So the days fly by, the migrations
begin again. The Geese
flying in all directions
except South

Winter is chewing the edges
of daylight.  Tomorrow it will
be Summer for the last

vestiges of the northern
calendar

My boots are in the rack.

Christmas is an afterthought

Jesus’ saccharine journey
through leather covers

trails the ribbon of His
birth.  My house needs
a cleaning.  There is
no coffee.

You will be here in the
fullness of time
We will close the door
on these infernals.

I am taught to be strong,
to not invite you to my

party.

My sadness is only a voice
In the wilderness

You wipe my tears


Caroline Shank
9.14.2024