The Lark
Published in

The Lark



February sucks or is it just things that have happened that will keep happening?

photo by author

When I returned to Ladyshire
It was February and naught was blooming
The cars moved with slow velocities
The sun awkward and low in early afternoon

Inside we sat
At a window table
Thumbing the local paper
There were things to notice
Framed photos, a porcelain turtledove
Bric-à-Brac on shelves…
The way your hair turned to down along the back of your neck

Glowing somehow

The words in the paper passed by and through me
The same as the wind when once again outside
I turned
To glance back through the window

I should rush back in, to your table
Take up your hands and say:
There are so many things but I do not have the words to explain them
And I’m… a confused mass of bees, and you’re both queen and honey

But I move with my own sad velocities
Plodding at my work
Caught forever at the corners of my own cliffs
Destined to return to Ladyshire
In spring
To fresh curtains
Cut flowers on the table
Stories in the local paper
Sitting once again
What is worth saving?
What is worth letting go?



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