Metamorphosis
The skies have already fallen
as I look out the window
and it’s the depression I feel
as I start another poem.
Old limbs must be cleared
before patches of grass can grow.
I think of a woman I’ve known
and wonder how our soft conversations
turned to silence of stone.
Still, I must admit she’s a good person—
we both are good,
but something has gone wrong.
We met last fall
and now I sit alone
amid a long, hot summer.
I sit at my laptop
looking for something positive to say.
I find a line, and put it on the page
and the poem becomes the poem
when I let it be what it wants to be.
I look for a deeper meaning
and contemplate my life.
The lawn outside is a collage
of patches of greens and browns
living and dying.
A tree branch dances in a gust of wind
but I must admit the world I’ve known
will never be the same.
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