Isn’t it funny how many feelings we fight?
What if we let them fall and settle,
like the dew at night?
Like rain and snow and petals;
particles of dust that shower down
in shafts of light.
When winter comes,
we do not tell it that it’s wrong.
We might still wish it on its way,
but make no effort to deny
or disprove winter, while it stays.
(And what a foolish thing that would be,
to see white coats appear around each tree
and argue that it shouldn’t be.)
When days get cold, we do not force
our naked ourselves to brave the elements,
bareskinned and blistering against the ice.
We do not fight.
We wrap ourselves,
and make hot, sweet, delicious things.
How kind we can be to ourselves,
staying safe and warm
while we wait for Spring.
The birds will only sing for sunrise,
not for the movement of an arm
around a twelve-point plane.
But here I am, again;
fighting familiar pain,
when I should watch and wait;
allow it all to fall,
to settle, then begin again,
when the light appears.
The dawn is almost here.
As we wait, those sharp and bitter flakes – that strike exposed skin with a sting –
will gently soften, stick to us and one another,
like our closest kin.
Of all the seasons of my mind,
winter was the hardest one to find,
to feel, to let you in.
Somehow I blossomed
and turned into Spring, it seems,
without you noticing.
© Amy Knight 2021
Poetry inspired by the beauty in my world… inside and out