The long cold silent winter
stretches out like a thin blanket
on a loveless bed.
I trust that
there is life there –
a barely beating heart
in hidden leaves and sunken acorns
frigid bulbs.
It’s the silence that deafens me.
No birds
no dogs
no screen doors slamming.
No ribald teenage calls
at two in the morning
from the bus stop across the way.
No songs
ringing out on six strings
sung with laughter
and too much red wine.
The sun colours the sky as it rises.
The bleakness blushes
and I am reminded
that this too shall pass.
The patience taught by winter
cold but not frozen
nor forgotten.
From Poems from the Chatterbox