Remembering Spring

for my daughter

 

In a mausoleum of dozing trees
I imagine lemon balm and fairy-tale
pink.

 

This is the winter I have created.

Many years ago she was a chattering
woman in the making:

a blank page and everything and anything
and all she wanted
was one more tea party.

 

What is fifteen minutes next to a glacier
of time spent sprinting
after everything you now know
was everything?

 

You run and it runs faster.

The frozen ground hides the idea of earth.
You knew an easy life once
and you try to remember.

 

There's a phantom glimpse of joy
in that lone squirrel that reminds
me of freedom, but the space it fled
is locked in ice, paralyzed as
the nest of barbed-wire
branches all around.

 

Give me the spring my daughter screamed
when her cat offered her a
dead mole as a gift.
Give me dogwood blossoms like
her origami birds.
Give me morning glories like
the hope in her eyes.

 

February's clouds seem close to heaven:
mirror of our authentic self and
our runaway dreams in all directions.

 

Fatal and glorious, this cold.

 

Beautiful tyrant, I know you too well
and I've fought you too many
times before.

 

Sacred emptiness of now,
life after many lives,

what is fifteen minutes?

 

Patricia Joan Jones

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Dove's picture

A magical feel, to be

A magical feel, to be lost 

in your writing! You carry

me away like the winds

and tickle my senses!

 

love the feel! Love the adventure 

and story 


©️Dove 2020

patriciajj's picture

Thank you for that exquisite

Thank you for that exquisite feedback, dear poet. 

Cascade's picture

I love it...I love everything

I love it...I love everything I have read so far. You have a wonderful gift of painting words into poetic pieces of art.

patriciajj's picture

I am so sorry I didn't

I am so sorry I didn't respond earlier to this beautiful and uplifting feedback. I get so busy sometimes that I forget to check my poetry sites. Thank you kindly for taking the time to read my work and leave such encouraging comments.