The Poetry of Mary K. O'Melveny

WOODSTOCK CHRISTMAS EVE 2016






The snow has shrunk a bit.

Kind of like my mind some

mornings when the news is

so grim I decide to

go back to my bed

to seek the comfort of

my very worst nightmares.

 

Snuggled in there, it could

still be early fall when

laughter had not been lost,

geese still circled around

the pond and russet trees

were the only things in

flame.  When trust still mattered.

 

It is almost Christmas.

Our fire is chipper, flames

darting about like hopeful

children.  Today I thought

my innocence might still

be intact as I yelled

out at our wily squirrels

 

as if they might listen

and head away toward

the neighbor’s bird feeders.

In their briefest absence,

the pure red cardinal

landed gently, promised

that we might yet survive.

 

 

 

This poem was first published by                                                      

The Write Place at the Write Time

(February, 2017)

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