As bland as the snow-covered lawn
I stare
wishing I were as resilient
as the scraggly blades of grass
refusing to hide their presence
under the act of God.
And I stare
because I cannot feel who I am today.
The withering bush
gives me no hope
nor
the single starving starling
peck
peck
pecking
at the hardened crust
to find a meal.
And I stare
at the absence of humanity
and uncourageous spirits
who hide indoors
resigned
to take this
cold, harsh beating
without a fight.
And I stare
into a bank of whiteness
becoming blind
with indescription
and anger
wishing we could build snowmen again.
And I stare
until this sheet of ice
becomes the
blanket of false snowfalls
on the living room table
nestled artfully beneath
the Christmas village.
We construct happy winter cities
of Victorian memories that
we never had
with pristine houses
and carolers and sledders
taken out of boxes
all perfect and smiling...
if only...
if only...
if only... I could take him out of his box
and set him here....
And I stare
at the absence of humanity...
praying
I will have the strength
of a blade of grass.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
As bland as the snow-covered lawn
I stare
wishing I were as resilient
as the scraggly blades of grass
refusing to hide their presence
under the act of God.
And I stare
because I cannot feel who I am today.
The withering bush
gives me no hope
nor
the single starving starling
peck
peck
pecking
at the hardened crust
to find a meal.
And I stare
at the absence of humanity
and uncourageous spirits
who hide indoors
resigned
to take this
cold, harsh beating
without a fight.
And I stare
into a bank of whiteness
becoming blind
with indescription
and anger
wishing we could build snowmen again.
And I stare
until this sheet of ice
becomes the
blanket of false snowfalls
on the living room table
nestled artfully beneath
the Christmas village.
We construct happy winter cities
of Victorian memories that
we never had
with pristine houses
and carolers and sledders
taken out of boxes
all perfect and smiling...
if only...
if only...
if only... I could take him out of his box
and set him here....
And I stare
at the absence of humanity...
praying
I will have the strength
of a blade of grass.
I am struggling to take down the Christmas tree, his memorial tree, of his colors and familiarities, the only tree in the only year of his death. When I take it down it is done...and 7 weeks until the first anniversary of his death. I pray to grow above the storm and the act of God....
