Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Morning Matinee: "hope's a reptile waiting for the sun"

by Bill Christophersen

The cold grows colder, even as the days
grow longer, February's mercury vapor light
buffing but not defrosting the bone-white
ground, crusty and treacherous underfoot.
This is the time of year that's apt to put
a hammerlock on a healthy appetite,
old anxieties back into the night,
insomnia and nightmares into play;
when things in need of doing go undone
and things that can't be undone come to call,
muttering recriminations at the door,
and buried ambitions rise up through the floor
and pin your wriggling shoulders to the wall;
and hope's a reptile waiting for the sun.



Anonymous said...

Terrific poem! Thank you. I remember that February feeling in other climes, and we are getting a bit of it now.

the other L

Lou said...

The the grammatical shift that makes that last line happen is a nice jarring.

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