Tuesday, January 20, 2015


Dry leaves rattle and bones click against the soft satin,
shredded by time,
A coffin day.

I don’t know what to do when it comes down to it;
Nothing seems to say itself,
It just all seems out of proportion,
There is no spring back in the touch, no sap of life,
My fingers are aching with the sadness of it.
And there’s the stupid sun, spreading itself over the morning.

Look at that.
A tree down for the winter,
Gone, gone. Gone, gone, gone.

They say the sap is just below the surface,
Sticky with life, rich, and waiting.

Colorado, Winter 2014


Anonymous said...

This poem is so deep, rich, so full of grief and yet, I can smell the soil of Spring in it.
bless you Linda Jo.

Anonymous said...

I forgot how the line about "the stupid sun…" mad me LOL through tears.

LInda Jo said...

HI, Thank you so much...that is exactly what i thought myself...