lament in winter

to weep over this huddled form
may in the end be an antidote
to the current of grief, that
––force
[o time]
where to meet head on
and survive
[o mother]
demands surrender to its coming
[o you ]
left behind too for the onward march
[you, too]
and nearly disappeared

[and yet. and yet]

save now
us our mothers
this time
our sense of any
o god but
these blind barons’
blaring horns

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places. View all posts by Stacey C. Johnson