These winter days go one by one
and seldom does much happen;

yesterday my cat murdered and ate
a chickadee on the deck and the blood

and snow mixture left a pattern
similar to what a painting of

Vincent Van Gogh’s severed ear
might look like on fresh linen.

I let the killer inside, she licked
her paws--curled on my lap.

The coldness of morning
penetrates in proportion
to the lonely nights before
and the winds that blow
in from the north
like sadness wrapped
all around me
a coat without pockets
no warmth for my hands
that once held yours
like ashes without fire
and there is ice on my lashes
that burns like the last words
I heard you say to my back
as I walked away out the door.

To all of you poets
down South and up North
West and to the East
whoever you are
whatever your beliefs
I wish you much joy
happiness and peace
for on this one night
at least think no more
of spite, anger and war
sickness, sorrow or grief
for wherever you are
may kindness be the star
that lights all of our ways.

There was a handmade cake on my table
and a letter with immature hand:

I start with this
but know that
whenever and wherever I bake a cake
you'll be in my mind.

It tasted not that sweet
I remember
and she was never to make another
in my corners of bitter December.

I have no other Christmas memory.

There couldn't be.

(10W X 3)

Snow covers the grass...now,
Like frozen tears, melting
Graying...

Fallen dry leaves...trapped,
Buried underneath white,
Cold wind bites.....

Sunlight dazzles,
Brownish grass breathes,
Crystal meltings flow,
They sparkle...


Sally

Copyright December 19, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan