“Walking In The New Winter Woods”, a poem.

—–

 

Walking in the new winter woods,

the crunch of fragile ground beneath

my boots,

my dog’s paws will be sore tonight

for we aim far afield.

–

I think of this morning when we

argued at breakfast,

the smell of maple bacon should

stop all that, but didn’t.

–

We can’t get past the desiccated ghosts

who have taken up residence in our hearts, inviting

slights and outright blows never delivered

but still lingering in the air.

–

I took the gun loaded with birdshot

in case there was a duck down by the pond.

Were,  but those be sitting ducks-

didn’t seem right, too easy a target

like this morning at breakfast when either one

of us could have let swing and landed a good one

on tender flesh and raw nerves.

–

The dog is game for hunting,

but my heart isn’t .

–

My thoughts go back to you standing there,

that old apron around your waist,

determined not to let me see tears

and my heart cracks and soon I head back with

a peace offering of holly.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2010-13

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