waiting for what may never come

red

croci huddle in small clusters
along the walk
pressed by ice and snow
of a sudden storm
winter won’t let go
air too cold for barefeet
I sit perched on the porch
watching fat flakes hit the pine
until I can no longer see
for the white covered window
blind in the moment
I close my eyes
holding my tea cup closer
to feel the heat
and smell the chai steam
memories crawl out
I am heavy now underneath
untouched for years
waiting for spring
~

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