There will be time to prepare,
some other time, when gentle breaths puff
the solitary exhale of nearly sleeping chests.
Some other day when reflected back would be
that we had done our best.
When your drowsy eyes slide low, and lower-
till you are cocooned in cotton candy dreams,
spun soft-hearted for exhausted souls.
These defeats do take their tolls.
There will be more coffees sipped,
and taken trips to borders and beyond,
you can be assured the daffodil will follow
unafraid of April’s fickle moods-
and soon it will be safe to plant the seeds
to reap the harvest, of your good deeds.
Did you think the slamming of a door,
would ripple out with such a crack,
that Hatred might take notice and turn its head?
To eye the unrest and sickly stumble from its bed,
were you too, taken aback?
I left the couch, then left the room
and walked out amongst the gloom
of Pittsburgh’s weeping, solemn sky.
I shook my head then shook my fist,
my sleeping children’s heads I kissed,
then sat back and reminisced,
and keened a mournful cry.
I will stand beneath the arch,
and wait for spring to buck the cold.
Wait for the optimistic tulips to take hold,
and weep their frosty corpses come the dawn.
I will hold on.