Hope
1 min
My favorites
On the first warm day in March
Anita Skeen
after a trudge on the icy path
through the sun-splashed woods,
we sit on the front stoop,
hatless and gloveless, drinking
glasses of cinnamon tea.
As we walked, we talked
how we both were blindsided
this past week by colleagues
with agendas obvious and
secretive at the same time,
that we are part of a puzzle
with missing pieces tucked in
a pocket or slipped to the dog,
but not by us, leaving the jay
with no wings, the cottage
roofless on one side.
Snow melts on the driveway.
A chipmunk dashes in front of us,
startled, forgetting that humans
come out in the sun. Friends
who see each other mostly
on Zoom, we are vaccinated,
boosted, and finally, maskless.
We can feel our new lives,
not just the restored old ones,
taking shape as we tell how
we will go forward now, aware
of the terrors in Ukraine, the loss
that is always possible, perhaps
just days away. But today, here
we are, together, making a plan.
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