The Pruning

The day is cold and gray,
but the sun will shine when it’s
had time to cut through
the winter dense cloud cover;
sounds kinda like me:
daily tearing away chunks
of a wizened shredded heart;

Under the layers of winter grey,
the house seems pale and muted;
a home shut tight; a full trashcan
filled with memories like daffodil bulbs
sleeping; the only living thing in sight
is me, and I am dormant, too.

I am waiting for the sun to shine again,
to learn how to unfurl my heart in its warmth.
These days, neither long nor short, bright nor dark,
wet nor dry, fill me with a sadness I cannot name.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, a day of love
and chocolate. My father, born ninety-five years ago,
always bought red cardboard hearts full of truffles
for my mother, my sister and me. Now he is gone.
And you’re gone. And I am alone. Very.

This morning, the flicker of life left lonely in me
Is waiting, can be seen waiting, if you look closely enough,
Waiting for the warmth to come again,
And for the pruning to begin.