Why is it our NEW YEAR
begins just as WINTER enters
his old age? Must we always
drag that dotage with us
for weeks, even months?
Why can’t we shove it
against one of those snow piles
which will take five days
of sunlight to melt
into the cool blue air?
Or spread it over the moist
morning lawn and let
yellow grasses drink it?
Why do we feel responsible
for Father Winter when already
his burgeoning son stretches out
beneath ice and snow?
Is there a hesitation in us
the year feels as a lack of welcome?
Does the calendar itself shift
imperceptibly sensing a longer winter?
Whatever it is, I’m sick of it: I want
the cheer, the uplift, the snap of time.
Or is it simply time to rev my faith
in the everlastingness
of the seasons? Words like immortal
and eternal occupy still
their niches in my mind.
Suddenly I realize this year will slip out of
its mortality the way a snake sheds
its old skin and slithers into grass mounds
out of sight. Things are never as difficult
as they seem at first. I kick the discarded skin
aside, and we walk down a clear path together.
Winter Becoming Spring For Fabrizio Marc 2016
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