Of Loss
Stephanie Johnson
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The bitterness seeps through good woolen coats, Scarves and gloves and hats; In this chill we huddle close in the near-empty square. The things we don’t recall in summer Come back to us in the cold, When we pause and look back and remember. Conserving energy, we hunch over steaming beverages and tell stories of the past No longer the stale smell of cafe smoke, but we remember it We think of dates gone by, even recent ones, With fondness. We miss old companions and things that might have been Promises kept and broken, misfortune and good luck, The things we have cradling the things we lost. |