Winterbound — A Poem

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“Laden” — C.Birde, 3/18

 

Snowfall —

fallen,

falling.

Inches’ and layers’

accumulation,

accumulating.

Wait…

Breath held as trees,

beneath

their sudden burden,

bend

and songbirds’

courting chorus

cease.

The blessing

did not

hold.

We fold

beneath winter’s final

felling lash.

Begone.

Begone!

Appeased,

at last.

 

— C.Birde, 3/18

 

Linden Bears Snow — An Image

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“Linden Bears Snow” — C.Birde, 3/18

 

Two days past,

the snow fell hard

and fast.

We held

our breath

as venerable branches

cracked.

But the Linden

bore

its burden,

and through

its frosted limbs,

the light

recast.

— C.Birde, 3/18

 

 

Rush/es — An Image

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“Rush/es” — C.Birde, 1/18

 

Rush…

or do not.

Linger.

Remain.

Taut,

blade-straight,

erect;

ear tuned

to hear

the rushes’

rasp and

whisper.

 

— C.Birde, 1/18

 

Wintersong — A Poem

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“Wintersong” — C.Birde, 1/18

 

Sing softly,

sweetly to Winter –

that bare-boned,

pared-raw

season of ragged echoes.

Curl your lips round

the North wind,

round those clear

bright notes,

and,

with sweet ardor,

sing.

 

 

— C.Birde, 1/9/18

 

Yesterday — An Image

 

Yesterday
“Yesterday” — C.Birde, 1/18

 

 

The bright light

and clarity

of today

does not obscure

the trials

of yesterday.

 

— C.Birde, 1/18

 

 

Tuck Me In — A Poem

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“Seclude” — C.Birde, 12/17

 

 

Tuck me in to sleep and dream,

away, out of the way, deep in

green-souled memory ticking

with the patter of small claws,

insects’ wings’ clatter, the rill

and trill of rain and breeze and

bird song, in warmth, in safety,

tuck me in embrace until the

deep dark fold of Winter has

passed.

 

— C.Birde, 12/17

Sated — A Poem

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“Endure” — C.Birde, 12/17

 

Dark

chews,

gnaws,

swallows day,

minute by hour,

bit by

bit by

bite,

and, in so doing,

clears the path

for Winter,

marks a

return

to light.

 

— C.Birde, 12/17

 

Arrivals — A Poem

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“Arrivals” — C.Birde, 12/17

 

The

long stride

of Winter

finds us huddled

together —

bones shrunk within

too-thin flesh —

unimpressed

by prompt

and timely

arrivals.

 

— C.Birde, 12/17

 

Cutting Words — A Dream

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“Cutting Words” — C.Birde, 5/17

Is he aware? That I can hear him? That I stand alone, outside, in the dark, cobblestoned street? I see him in profile, seated in a small, tidy, featureless room, its walls and floor comprised of smooth plaster. The arched entry is doorless, nor is there glass in the similarly formed window. From my vantage, it seems the only furniture, the only adornment to the room, is the ladder-back chair he sits in; the only illumination is shed from a single candle on the windowsill. Warm light flickers, and shadows reach, grasp.

The chair he occupies is pressed up against the wall, just inside the doorway. He wears a collared, button-down shirt, linen pants crisply pleated, and a dark fedora. And he speaks. To someone beyond my line of view? To the empty room itself? His words punctuate the heavy air: “She’s smarter, stronger. Braver. Bolder…” Logically, matter-of-factly, impersonally — he states all the ways he prefers her to me.

As if I had ever been blissfully unaware of his feelings.

As if his every action had not always, ever, betrayed his opinion.

As if it could not ever, possibly have hurt.

 

— C.Birde, 5/17