a lingering Spring
that would settle,
hushed and gentle,
into Fall.
I grew weary of waiting
in the bony lap of winter
longed for the life that emerges,
burgeons and converges
after a bitter cold.
I needed honeysuckle and May apple
to clear my heart of January-
instead I have thorn and thistle,
sun-blanched bramble and bristle,
limbs that bears no fruit.
Fevered breezes bring little ease
and highway mirages remind me
of a barren garden, an empty chair
dust devils in the air,
I long for the numbness of cold.
~ Robin St. James
As a life-long learner, Robin St James has taken nearly every literature and history course available, but has concentrated on American Literature and African American Studies. St James has had work published in The Blue Island Review, KU’s Kiosk and Comma Splice, and other literary publications.
I loved this, Robin! Longing, longing.
Lovely poem, I was named Shelley for the poet’s line—“when winter comes, can spring be far behind?”
Thank you for these lovely images and words.
Wonderful images Robin. Great job!
I just found these comments when I came here to link this poem to a friend. Thank you so much all!