Winter’s Grip

Mornings are dark
bitter dark
but
in its heart
lays
a golden gem
for the taking:
the gift of another
day
for the unwrapping,
another start
a sigh
of spring
lurking
past the rain,
like a bashful bride
peering
round the bend
hoping
for a loving kiss
to seal
years together
countless
embraces
to fill
her one day
feeble memory
making her smile
in the dark
and get on with
the day,
one more cinnamon sweet
coffee in hand
staring
at the empty bird feeder
prodding her
out
into the rain
like a reticent
marm
reduced to servitude
of belligerent
voracious budgies
whose bright
golden
breast
are the only
sun anywhere
within sight.

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Was it A Dream? “I have wasted my life…” James Welch

 

It’s cold
bone chilling
feverish cold
“wet in the bones” cold,
every breath
struggling
for cover
warmth
snow falls
through
a small crack
in the rotted pine
ceiling
windows shake
floors rattle
I lie
stiff
trapped
in my own skin
like a stone
at the bottom
of a rushing river,
I hear songs
or are they
prayers?
incoherent whispers
animal cries
baby murmurs:
Above me
unwritten poems
unfulfilled promises
shuffling
like so much confetti
in the dark.
A sudden
beam of muted
rising sun
peers
through
heavy broken
shutters
piercing the dark:
red refracted
across heavy
molecules of
a life
lived
lost
and found,
many times over.

I wake
walk
slowly
untethered
light,
my heart
sprouting
feathers
warm
down
cradling
its very
real beat
drumming
blood
through
every organ
oxygen
feeding
my cells.

Silence
except
for the winging
of a raven
somewhere
past time
and space.

Morning
has dawned
once again,
my feet
feel
the pull of life
and I face
another day,
hope as my shield,
ignorance
my blessing
love my sword.

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