March Morning

sitting, my back to the window,
I realize you cannot see
the sun spilling over the morning
snow scattering into a million points

here in the right light you are timeless
your cheeks smooth, unwrinkled
jaw still strong, lips firmly set
free of the anxiety you must feel
about this journey

you ask for the doctor… you want
to go home. These are the burning
questions, our innate desire
to embrace the familiar

February has been a poor month
for us. We talk about the cat; unfound
about the birds unfed,
about the promise of spring

slowly grasping my hand in yours
you mention the clocks.
that grandfather’s clocks are silent
with no one home to wind them.
we hold hands quietly and I know
it will always be about time

soon there will be the ripe asparagus
to pick, and the new hay to be planted,
and again the season will change.

like this long winter nothing lasts forever,
all things come to an end.

March 3, 2014 by c.m. brooks


~ by christinambrooks on March 5, 2014.

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