The Paddock Review

Seasons Mean Nothing

 

Now that I’m old, my head is full with the humming of cicadas

those constant companions regardless the season

 

Now while I sit in the shadow of a great swaying mimosa

that fell in a storm when I was fifteen

 

Now while I walk through summer’s blackberry brambles

your horses gallop past me in the fresh fallen snow

 

Now that they’ve gone, father, brother, and lover

I listen for their voices

In grief, they say, voices are the first to go

 

The cicadas keep filling my head with phantom summers

The mimosa has not grown back but continues to sway

 

The horses are gone but still run in the pasture

I read your poem just yesterday

…..

This poem is from the chapbook Darkness Called Us Home by Rosemarie Wurth-Grice (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/darkness-called-us-home-by-rosemarie-wurth-grice/