This morning’s poem comes from the forecast of a polar cold front due to sweep down the mid-Atlantic coast later this week.
As late winter deepens, falling from a sky
sometimes scoured blue, sometimes dull
gray signifying snow, I dig out my down
coat from the hall closet, stuff my hands
deep into its pockets, and find the past.
Balled up tissues crumple memories,
and crumbs caught in the seams must be
the remains of last year’s holiday cookies.
This old coat no longer fits after months
of indoor quarantine, and the top closet shelf
is an unkempt stew of scarves, hats, and gloves.
Although we face a bitter cold, I enter these
days of lengthening light hoping for a different
spring, for a warming sun to bless us and finally
unmask our weary faces in its light.
© 2020 Penny Harter