by Mary Fox
The sun rises,
and you do not see it glint against snow.
You do not inhale its sweet clarity you loved.
I travel alone—reluctantly prepared
before you sped to the sting of a setting sun—
schooled in practicalities
of water lines and furnaces.
Somehow, I’ve always found a wisp of courage
and imagination to see me through.
This New Year might wind and twist.
I might envision where it leads
or question if I want even to trudge
those paths. Uncertain, I will pause
to fill my pockets with Christmas
I’ll gather from beneath the snow.
In my grieving heart, they’ll jangle a song of yesterday:
I may recall sweet bundles of candles scented with pine
or days bubbling with Christmas cheer.
Remembrance may fill the air with
or rattle me those tart sachets fragranced with your scent—
all prickly packages to prod me on.
Mary Fox, a Detroit-born poet, resides Portland, Michigan. In 2016, she published “Waiting for Rain,” a poetry chapbook, with Finishing Line Press, and in 2018, she co-edited “Promptly Speaking,” the fourth Writing at the Ledges anthology. Her 2019 chapbook was “Reading Lessons” (Finishing Line Press). She promotes poetry and oral presentation with several Lansing-area organizations, including The Poetry Room, The Coffeehouse at All Saints Episcopal Church and Writing at the Ledges.
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