what remains.

winter.

then spring

supposedly a

time of renewal

i think everyone forgets

about the time in between…

in this between time,

the snow remains

only where it

was once piled high,

and to call it

snow now is a

little misleading.

yes, there is snow

somewhere in there,

but as i walk,

i see

piles of dirt and debris.

like a glacier,

the snow retreats,

depositing the detritus

trapped months ago

by a long-lasting winter.

there’s a flat pumpkin.

several beer bottles.

cigarette butts.

candy wrappers.

leaves, never raked up.

and covering the grass?

a thin layer of mold.

now in the middle of

a parking lot,

this retreating

glacier has left behind

countless miniature lakes,

lakes that will soon

dry up,

making

the drive through

the parking lot more

than a little treacherous.

“it’s so ugly,” i said.

but he reminded me

that this, like everything

else, is a matter

of perspective.

“the dirty snow i see signals the end.”

i hadn’t really thought

about it that way.

where i now live

there is no end.

and no beginning.

no cycle.

no seasons.

and i’m okay with that.

but here, there

is hope in this

cycle of change.

and here, hope that

winter will end is

as close to

religion as most of them

will ever get.

i don’t want the wind to blow.

these moments are rare here,

when the wind

blows hard enough

to knock them down.

tonight, is one

of those nights.

blowing south, it

deposits the dead all over sunset.

unacknowledged by

most, they’re piled

up on the edges,

waiting to be removed.

but where do

they go?

and who takes them away?

it’s not something

i’ve ever seen,

but maybe tonight

i’ll stand watch.

.

she coughed and everything disappeared.

yellow.

yellow is the color of

despair on this road

liquor stores, motels,

and an unknown number

of people who

need them.

itinerant scrawlers, unseen,

hitting everything but

the sign…

crime
ǝɯıɹɔ

and an arrow

between, pointing backward.

more yellow,

the 754, nearly empty

and traveling

in the direction

i’m not.

briefly, i see them,

like me,

lost in this city.

 

You need to log in to vote

The blog owner requires users to be logged in to be able to vote for this post.

Alternatively, if you do not have an account yet you can create one here.

Powered by Vote It Up

Copyright © 2007-2010 matt, liz and madeline. All rights reserved. This blog may not be reproduced on any other site without the expressed written consent of Matt Logelin.