February is bitterly
cold and mercifully
brief and burns like
a widow with her heart
torn open and her fingers
frostbitten and her face
in relief,
like she knows
the suggestion and
repression of form
is more blistering
to imagination
than suffocating grief.
And the man she mourns
might be any man
or Everyman
or St. Valentine himself,
but we will shiver like the opal
in her cameo
until the lion
roars for spring.
8 comments:
February is also, so far, a sleepless month, and it is soothing to come here in the quiet of the night to read the lovely and brave and honest way you put words together to make something I couldn't have imagined before you did.
Thank you for sharing these.
I am Leo and I have been roaring for my lover, the Sun, to return the heat to me for months now. May February find what she is looking for and then go to sleep early.
Jennifer, in spite of your beautiful comment--and how much I always appreciate your words of kindness and support--I will continue to hope that February brings you some peace and sleep!
Sweet dreams, my friend. :)
Mark, hey, at least it's not a leap year, I guess. But I'll still be gritting my teeth until March's lion transitions into docile lamb.
Very nice, very powerful!
Thank you, Charles. I really appreciate all your comments.
I used to quite like Feb. It used to be my favorite month. The weather here is lovely, so I'm not complaining about that here.
I've just taken a liking to September lately. Sorry, June. :)
I love the start of autumn. My favorite time of year now, too.
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