stop trying so hard to force
these puzzle pieces of the past together
time to stop remembering how you looked
that last time and what I said
and what now it’s too late to say
Sometimes there’s nothing we can do
when it gets warm, snow melts
when it rains, we get wet
when the wind blows, it turns umbrellas inside out
Maybe there’s nothing else to be done
the dishes washed, dried, and placed back in the cupboards
trash out in the barrel, recycling piled in the blue bucket
wood split and stacked for the winter
decks swept, gutters cleared of leaves
today’s gray sky remains gray
only the wind blows in great gusts across the lake
driving the white capped waves onto the shore
and you’re still gone
eyes closed, hands folded
legs and arms still
no life
and I can’t bring you back
Joanne Holdridge lives in Devens, MA, but spends as much of the winter as she
can skiing the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Before she was able to devote her winters to skiing, she taught poetry and literature courses to ESL students at Bunker Hill Community College for three decades.