For the adventure

Snow in the East already
Sopping the overcast streets,
But here rain as usual
Between crisp, leafy days.
And we slouch towards solstice
And holidays
And the traditions
Of our nineteenth century
Postcards.

Tires on the wet pavement lisp
And slur and hiss
As evening drops
And fevers lie in bed
And angels might be near
But we’ve been told no
Except in our stories
And Mary remains silent
Until the darkest day.

The calendar turns again
With all souls and saints,
And the days begin
To line up, readying themselves
For the adventure.
But I am back
In Protestant days
—Four bare walls—
And a longing for angels.

(All Hallows’ Evening, 2011)

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s