Tag Archives: Winter poem

Grass Widow

11 Wednesday Apr 2018

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The only way

You’re like a lover

Abandoned

By her loved

Is in the wait

For your return.

If we lay down,

Together,

Among

Your scattered

Bunches and buttercups,

I’d tell you how it felt

When the world

grew silent.

Would you believe me?

I’d tell you of the cold

How it froze

Even hope,

How the aspen

Waved its branches,

Like arms,

Yelling out

In loneliness.

Would you believe me?

One morning,

Yesterday,

You returned.

Just like that,

Your elegant long leaves,

Emerged,

Your six, perfect,

purple petals,

Emerged,

Your three yellow-

Tipped stamens

Emerged,

Just like that.

All the world

I can see from here

Is ready,

It’s eager,

It’s desperate

For this,

For you,

For everything

You bring back

From wherever

You were

When you

Went away.

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The Aspen’s Happiness: First Day of Spring

20 Tuesday Mar 2018

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I think the aspen is happy today,

The way the robin perched

On its bare branches.

The skin of her feet,

The skin of that branch,

One warm body pulsing blood,

The other pulsing with spring sap.

To be touched after so long,

As your buds begin to break

The surface of what separates:

Your ability to drink of the sun,

And that long and naked loneliness.

Second Winter of Winter

01 Thursday Mar 2018

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The second Winter was the cruelest,

The way it buried our hopes.

Even the ground had opened its mouth,

Like a baby bird, waiting to be fed.

I swear the grass was starting to green,

And I’m sure I heard a frog that night–

We sat outside and said we smelled spring.

We were wrong, as we always are

When we try to divine the future.

The only animal who tries to divine the future—

The only one who knows disappointment

In buried grass, bare branches, and silence.

If Snow Could Form Into Tree

24 Saturday Feb 2018

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If snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen.

Snow, one of a thousand

shades of white,

The perception of light and brightness–

And Spirits, rising up like like colonies,

Covered in it. The snow. This aspen.

Our hopes. Our dreams. The good dreams,

That is. The ones where fairy god mothers

Float down and save us.

Did you know, aspen bark heals?

They say it takes away pain–

Like a friend, a lover, my mother

rubbing my back until it burns.

And, like a child, that’s what I want it to be.

Yet, its naked trunk rises like winter–

So unafraid, so unalone,

So rigid, intractable and distant.

Yes, if snow could form into tree,

It would be the aspen,

And the cold, white stillness of what seems

A winter that won’t go away.

Nineteen Bits: Winter-Driven Gods

22 Sunday Dec 2013

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Who deserves the gold of the stripped willow,

Or the absolute stillness of fog upon snow?

Who deserves the overhead flight of geese,

The way their honking helps spirit take flight?

Who deserves to be the one not killed

In the five car wreck on I-90 just yesterday,

The first day of the first real storm we’ve had?

I don’t understand why I was able to run

Heat-drenched and naked

Into the snow under stars,

Wave my arms and legs through powder

Flying like a ground-driven angel

Sent by some great winter-driven god.

We plunged back into the tub,

Passed happy dogs wagging tails,

Caught up in the joy of seeing humans

Act like they would, were they human,

We felt the glorious sting and stab

Of hot water upon closed pores

Saving us from what might, otherwise, kill us.

It was a calculated game,

To revel in being alive, to pretend,

For a moment, we control it.

It’s a curious thing, grace,

Every second we breathe

Our bodies are bathed in it.