Poems, February 13th and 14th

Valentine

one small offering of self
held tight in a white-knuckled fist
the trembling of that same self
eyes, averted, to hide any signs

the tender fledgling heart
as naive and innocent
as a young wet-winged baby bird
open and trusting
waiting to receive

one faint whisper
barely audible
one brief confession
all the bursting heart holds

one moment,
gone.

come morning,
the blood-red rose
scattered petals
in the street.


A Long Season

where did we leave off?
you ask, distractedly,
like someone does who has drifted
away only to suddenly be called back
as if recognizing the sound
of their own name
for the very first time

the child walks ahead,
skips ahead,
runs ahead,
her feet leaving small prints like
an animal in the snow

all the way to the mailbox,
I call to her
she who does not listen,
doesn't turn her head,
not even out of respect,
or to silence my calling
she so eager to discover

what might be hiding beneath
the snow.
I told her spring is on the way
but not yet
she only heard
the first couple of words

took them,
held them in her hand
and ran and ran

maybe hoping the headlines
announced the early arrival
of the new season
or that the mailbox
held some sign of spring,
a renegade nesting of birds
an early crocus, braving the cold

when we turned back
towards the house,
just for a momnet,
I thought I caught sight
of you moving in the shadow,
emerging from the dark space
you keep yourself in
when the world is all
too cold for you to bear

just as quickly
I see a misguided
ray of light
has hit the window
distorted my view

spring is on the way
but not yet.
and ran ahead
beating me to the mailbox,
the daily news

maybe hoping the headlines
announced the early arricval
of the new season
or that the mailbox
held some sign of spring,
a renegade nesting of birds,
an early crocus braving the cold

when we turn towards the house
just for a moment
I thought I caught sight
of you moving in the window
emerging from the dark place
you keep yourself in
when the world is too cold
for you to bear

just as quickly,
a misguided ray of light
has hit the window
distorted my view

spring is on the way
but not yet.

karensaint