This is the kind of poem that never would’ve made it in the old college creative writing workshops. Oh well. I’m free to write bad poetry now. 🙂
We’ve loved through the changing seasons
when we bloomed abundance, dripping sap
and honey, petals blossomed and open
wide. Even now in this early winter
when leaves brown and curl, falling
on the wind to settle in heaps around
us as a testimony of what came before,
we speak of love.
But I fear ice came too soon, making brittle
a thing once supple and limber.
We are naked, stripped barren
limbs stark against a graying winter sky.
When warmth melts down into our roots
again, will I remember how to bring
forth life? Will I unfurl the beauty
within or remain cocooned in frost?
Perhaps I have no choice
to do what is only natural.
And through this ancient cycle
we speak of love, our straining